


To Die On A Hill Of White Orchids

by TurnipKeep



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Found Family, Guilt, Incest, M/M, Pining, Relatives to Lovers, Romance, Teasing, Unconditional Love, alternative universe, problematic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurnipKeep/pseuds/TurnipKeep
Summary: Ordinary people, they worked regular hours to afford a home to come back to. At bars, ordinary people met other ordinary people that they wanted to meet again. Ordinary people fell in love and had families.Ignis wasn’t ordinary. Ignis was the advisor to the Crown Prince. Ignis’s home was the Citadel, and Ignis had never had a person who loved him. Not until a voice called it unjust, cruel, callous. Not until he was pulled into strong arms and told that he, too, deserved all the blessings of the ordinary people.And in that moment, Ignis was loved, and he loved back like an ordinary person.But Ignis wasn’t ordinary, and neither was the man he fell in love with.His love for a man above his stature, the King’s brother no less, was, in fact, quite extraordinary.
Relationships: Ardnis - Relationship, Ardyn Izunia/Ignis Scientia, Mentioned Noctis Lucis Caelum/Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, mentioned Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum
Comments: 36
Kudos: 65





	1. A Kindling

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Stunning cover art has been gracefully provided by fictionalthirst!
> 
> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Just going to put this out there right at the start: THE RELATIONSHIP DEPICTED IN THIS FIC IS PROBLEMATIC. I'm not going to skirt around the issue and claim that it's not incest because they're not blood related. It absolutely is incest, no ifs no buts. However I will stress that I have been exhaustive with the tags and there is no child grooming involved. I'm a nice person, I would have tagged that.
> 
> So, this is my debut on AO3. I could have gone with a lighter theme or something shorter, but no, I went with the controversial subject. Ardnis it my OTP tho. This idea just wouldn't leave me alone when I happened to say to say that if Regis is a DILF, then Ardyn is a UILF (Uncle I'd Like to Fuck).
> 
> Special thanks to STARfruit_Ninja who's patiently beta-reading my clusterfuck of a story, and another one to fictionalthirst, who was extra supportive throughout the evolution of this story and played a crucial role in its journey to existence!
> 
> Please enjoy!

When Ignis was 6 years old, he was brought in front of the royal family. By that time he had already been preparing for his role as the advisor to the future king, introductions included. He knew when to bow, knew how to give a firm handshake, and knew who to look in the eye and who to drag his gaze on the floor with. All in all he was a quiet, well behaved child, a prime example of early training done right. He could hide his terrified self deep within the layer of aloofness and proper etiquette.

His uncle kept a tight grip on his shoulder when he was introduced to his majesty. They bowed in unison, Ignis keeping his back bent for a moment longer than his guardian. Ignis remembered to not look into Regis’s eyes, instead sweeping the floors with his gaze, nervous lump throbbing in his throat and drying his mouth.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ignis,” his majesty announced, tone as regal as it could get, yet soft and approachable. Ignis swallowed and nodded, pressing his chin against his chest.

Regis continued, “For someone as young as yourself, the journey to your position will be arduous, but know that you will find your family with us, and most importantly, my son, who you will meet shortly.” He smiled encouragingly, which Ignis would have seen if he had been brave enough to look up.

The king descended from the throne to have a conversation with his uncle, the man responsible for raising Ignis the past few years and the only family he knew. He couldn’t remember his parents anymore. Now he was to be handed over to the Royal family where he was to forge his own comfort and find a place of safety in himself. The thought terrified Ignis. He dared not to lull himself into the disbelief that the royal family was going to be his bedrock to stand on. His uncle, a pragmatic man at best, with an indifferent, sterile demeanour like a steel pipe, had made certain to hammer into his head that the Scientia lineage was made of self-reliant people, men and women who forged their own needs out of the resources available. Ignis would first learn to be his own guardian and later provide his expertise on said field to the young prince.

While the adults talked, Ignis lifted his gaze from the decorated marble floor and scoured the throne room. A great many people had arrived for his introduction, which unnerved Ignis, but he kept the feeling under a lid. His uncle, who had served the previous king, Mors, had encouraged Ignis to observe the people around him. He told him it was part of his role as the advisor to acknowledge even the most muted presence in the room and make judgements based on their character to piece together information he could hand over to Noctis once the young boy would sit on the throne. The man who garnered his attention was far from plain.

Halfway to the throne, leaning on the rail of the staircase, stood a rugged gentleman. He was dressed in a royal garb, albeit one more modest than the king’s, and looked tall from Ignis’s perspective. It might’ve been an illusion stemming from his position above the rest of the crowd, as he shied away from the pedestal of the throne. His hair was an unusual colour; Ignis had met many a man in Insomnia with dark hair, blond hair and even dull reds, but the man loitering on the staircase had a deep burgundy tone to the wild locks descending upon his shoulders. He looked to be in his twenties, but due to his slightly shabby, unkempt appearance Ignis could not accurately pinpoint his age.

With his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl painted on his face, the man looked like a feral animal forced into a frock, yet when his eyes met Ignis’s, the expression melted into a sympathetic smile. He proceeded to turn himself to face Ignis, and with one arm folded over his midsection, gave Ignis a short bow. It was then Ignis realised he hadn’t addressed the man appropriately, hurrying to bend his small body into a deep, apologetic bow. When he finally dared to straighten himself, the man shot an amused smirk at Ignis, topping the gesture with a wink that tugged the corners of Ignis’s face into a coy smile.

“Ah, I see you have made contact with the alien that is my brother,” the king interrupted, bringing Ignis back to Eos. He gestured at the red haired man to descend the stairs and join them for a proper presentation. “Come down, Ardyn, and introduce yourself to the young Scientia.”

“I am certain the boy would learn of me from the many rumours circulating your court, Reggie,” Ardyn argued. He let out an exasperated, weary sigh and despite the show of reluctance, descended the stairs with appropriate dramatic indolence, each step of his heavy boots ringing the marble below. Once down, his stature was no longer simply an illusion. The man was tall, taller and broader than the king. Where Regis was neat and proper, Ardyn was wayward and unpolished in equal measure.

He stood in front of Ignis, and arched himself into a bow once more.

“Ardyn Lucis Caelum, the younger brother of the stick-in-the-mud ruling this country and the pariah of the house Caelum,” the man introduced himself. He surprised Ignis by kneeling down on his level: a gesture Ignis hadn’t endured from the court so far. “Do you know what pariah means?”

“An‒ an outcast, or a black sheep, sir,” Ignis responded, voice frail from the nerves. It was the first time he had said anything since walking through the doors.

Ardyn hummed in approval. “Correct. An impressive vocabulary you have there. And what do they call you?”

Ignis swallowed hard, his brain scurrying to produce the correct information while still holding onto the panic overwhelming his mind.

“Ignis, of house Scientia, sir.”

One of Ardyn’s large hands landed on his shoulder, but his hold was much softer than that of his uncle’s from earlier.

“I’m sure Reggie will be overjoyed from you calling him ‘sir’,” the wildling of a man mused, “but I, on the other hand, am not one for fancy titles. You may call me Ardyn. A pleasure to meet you, Ignis.”

Ignis managed to produce another smile and even braved the endeavour of looking into Ardyn’s eyes. They were stormy blue, the colour of an ocean trapped in a tempest. The smile he wore for Ignis stayed on until the king called Ardyn’s name. It came out as a reprimand. Ignis was familiar with the tone, and it killed the gentle expression on Ardyn’s face, forcing it back into a scowl.

“So I am to not touch the boy at all,” Ardyn responded in challenge to the discreet scolding as he stood up and stepped away from Ignis, earning a look of frustration from the king.

“This is not the time nor the place, Ardyn,” Regis chided. While Ignis was paraded around like a trophy, introduced to strangers he had been taught of by his uncle beforehand, the king’s brother departed from the throne room. It was strange how he didn’t remember Ardyn’s name ever coming up in his uncle’s lessons, but he rationalised it had something to do with Ardyn being a pariah, as he put it.

After hours of praising words from unfamiliar people exuding as much warmth as a tray of ice in a freezer, Ignis was finally presented to the crown prince. Regis was forced to push his son to greet Ignis, as the small child, almost a head shorter than Ignis, hid behind the benevolent king and refused to meet Ignis’s eye. Ignis held out his hand in a greeting. Noctis, as Ignis would come to know him as, hesitated to take his hand, but once he did a warm smile spread on his face. This child was to be Ignis’s little brother. Ignis was certain they would get along splendidly.

That night, after Ignis was escorted into the room he and Noctis would be sharing for the next few months, he slumped onto the bed in exhaustion, yet the sleep would skirt around him like a terrified animal: in sight but just out of reach. He was left in an alien home, with alien people, with nothing but a suitcase full of clothes and barely a memory of the time with his uncle. The man had been his guardian for what Ignis counted was four years, give or take a few months, and while he hadn’t been cruel to Ignis in any sense, he had always stood at ready to remind Ignis that their arrangement was temporary. Once his role would be complete, Ignis would join the royal family as the advisor and caretaker of prince Noctis. With so many reminders and a constant cold shoulder, Ignis had accepted his lot and looked forward to finding a family with the young prince. A family he had been denied until the day had come.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to make peace with his change of lifestyle, he was lost and scared, missing every bit of the familiarity he had had with his uncle. He had been the only family Ignis had known, and that aspect had been taken away from him in a moment of brief farewells and a “you’ll make me proud, won’t you, Ignis.” Ignis didn’t want to make anyone proud. He wanted to go home.

He curled into a ball on the strange bed that was supposed to be his. The sheets felt wrong. Ignis breathed slowly to exorcise the growing dread creeping upon him and the bucketful of tears that built up behind his eyes.

“What’s wrong, Ignis?” he heard the prince ask from the other end of the room. He had made a noise, a hiccup, a quiet wail, something to alert the younger boy.

“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” His voice broke down multiple times even with only a few short words to utter.

After a moment of silence, one of contemplation, Noctis spoke again, “Are you scared?”

“Yes,” Ignis found himself admitting.

“My mom used to sing to me when I had nightmares. Mom isn’t around anymore, and Dad isn’t very good at singing, but he tries to help. Do you want to go find him?”

Ignis turned towards Noctis, nodded briefly and forced his body up to a sitting position. Each one of his limbs felt like they had lead weights strapped to them and Ignis’s nose was running, but he scrambled up on his feet and joined with the crown prince to try and find the king.

“Dad is still probably in the throne room talking to people,” Noctis informed him as they traversed the empty, darkening corridors of the Citadel. The hallways were long winded and Ignis was glad Noctis was holding his arm and leading him, for he was certain he would have gotten lost trying to find his way. He could barely remember where the nearest toilet was.

In the end, navigating their way required very little. It was a short walk from the private quarters to the elevator that carried them to the right floor. Unfortunately, Prince Noctis had the approximate stamina of a three week old puppy, and was already nodding off on the way down. When the doors of the elevator pinged open, Ignis begged Noctis to go back to his room and assured him he would be fine on his own. The prince didn’t require convincing.

Ignis was not afraid of the dark, but as the elevator began its ascent and took the light with it, the empty, marbled room before the doors to the throne room harboured shadows that daunted him. The room was too tall and the corners pitch black. He threaded carefully towards the door, mindful of disturbing the shadows.

As he approached the double doors left slightly ajar, he heard pieces of conversation like sharp spears thrown across the room.

“—your take on this, but it is not your decision to make!”

“Neither is it yours.”

“It is a tradition, one he will be proud to have fulfilled once he is older. His uncle served our father—”

“Tradition? Tell me about this tradition you speak of. No, wait, is it the one where you snatch a child from the only guardian he has ever known and strand him in a castle with people he has never met in his life? Because, frankly, that sounds like a hostage situation to me. And you expect him to be proud of it? I always knew you were off your rocker but that is delusional even by your shoddy standards!”

“You’re out of line, Ardyn! I don’t expect you to condone my decision, but I expect you to respect it as one made by the king,”

“You’re a shit king, Reggie.”

Ignis pressed his body against the door, peeking into the throne room. The voices he heard he recognised as belonging to his majesty and Ardyn, and the narrow view provided by the door he didn’t dare to push fully open provided him with a view of the younger brother pacing around like a caged beast. From his vantage point he could not see the king, but he assumed he was standing to the left of the room. The rest of the court seemed to have vacated, for he heard no other voice except the two royal siblings bickering.

“He will have a family,” Regis sighed heavily, “in Noctis.”

“Your child is not a guardian,” Ardyn hissed back. “What will you do if he feels defenseless? Unsafe?”

“He is resourceful. He will manage.”

“He is a child, Regis! Your heart is filled with such cruelty you won’t even pretend to play daddy for him.”

“Watch your tongue,” the king growled in a voice that struck fear in Ignis’s already terrified heart. “It is not cruelty to want the best for my son. Ignis should form the strongest bond with Noctis. That will ensure his loyalty lies with him alone. Not with the crown, not with Insomnia, not with myself and certainly not with you, my dear brother.”

“If you wished for undying loyalty to your son, you should have purchased him a dog, not a human being.” Ardyn’s words were laced with venom and struck deep. While Ignis did not fully comprehend what the heated discussion was about, he got the impression that Ardyn was an assassin on the battlefield of wit: quick to slice where the blade hurt the most.

Momentarily, Ignis’s body rested too heavily against the door and the hinges creaked. This alerted the two men who ceased their argument. In panic, Ignis stepped back, looking for a place to hide in the dark, open room behind him, only to have his eyes blinded by the light pouring from the throne room, unobstructed by the doors. A shadow fluttered next to the brightness and shielding his eyes he could make out the form of a tall man with wild, burgundy locks.

“Ignis?” the king called out to him in disbelief. “It is late. You should be in bed.”

“Oh, Reggie. It eludes me how you have managed to raise Noctis when you fail to recognise a terrified child.” Ardyn’s demeanour softened significantly compared to the body language he had been projecting during his quarrel with the king. He lowered himself on Ignis’s level and once more placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Ignis, of house Scientia, wasn’t it? Was it a nightmare that brought you here?”

Ignis shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep,” he whispered.

“Ah, homesickness. Unfortunately, even the wisest of scholars are yet to discover a swift remedy for that. I do know of a little salve that might soothe your heartache, if you would like to try it.”

“Ardyn,” the king warned, but the younger brother dismissed him with a wave and a hand gesture Ignis could not see but it made Regis groan. Ignis nodded and Ardyn took his hand in a firm but gentle hold as he stood up and guided Ignis back to the elevator. His hand was much larger than Ignis’s, enveloping it fully in warmth. The feeling of safety spread from the boy’s fingers all the way through his arm and settled in his chest.

Ardyn led him back to his and Noctis’s room, turning on the lights as they entered and disturbing the prince’s sleep. Noctis wailed quietly but cracked his eyes open.

“Uncle Ardyn?” he asked, syllables dragging.

“Carry on with your dreams, Noct,” Ardyn instructed and the prince didn’t need more enticement to pull the covers over his head and curl up into a ball like a hedgehog.

Ignis seated himself on his bed when Ardyn spotted his luggage, helping himself to the contents of it.

“If my suspicions are correct, there must be something… A-ha!” He lifted up a bulky book. “An encyclopedia of the fauna of Lucis? My dear boy, this won’t do.”

He abandoned the book, placing it neatly beside the trunk, and resumed the intrusive rummaging.

“A dictionary, ‘Micro Expressions: How To Spot A Liar’. What kind of books do you read?” The man turned towards Ignis with an exasperated, appalled expression plastered on his face. It made Ignis chuckle quietly, a sound that elicited an empathetic reaction from Ardyn, whose feigned horror melted into a playful smirk. “We ought to get you some new material to plough through. Something less horrifying than ‘Micro Expressions’. Hmm, now this looks promising. ‘The Trials of Leviathan’, what is that about?”

“It’s a story of an Altissian rogue that wants to learn the truth of his ancestry, and is put through five trials to earn a boon from the goddess,” Ignis explained. It was one of the few books he owned that were considered fictional. According to his uncle, fairy tales were not useful in his line of work and served no purpose to advance his training, so he was only ever granted a limited number of fictional works. Yet Ignis delighted in stories that held a sprinkle of magic in them.

“This will have to suffice, although to my knowledge the only trial Leviathan has ever put anyone through is the trial of how long can one remain submerged. Don’t laugh at that! It was a poor attempt at a jest even from me.”

No matter how he tried, Ignis could not help laughing. Ardyn grabbed the book and threw himself at the foot end of Ignis’s bed, gesturing for Ignis to crawl under the covers and get comfortable. Once the young boy was cozily embraced by the thick throw and the sheets no longer felt cold and uninviting on his skin, Ardyn opened the book and read aloud to him.

Ignis had not realised how tired he was. The feeling of dread and longing had filled him to a point where sleep had no room in his mind, but the steady flow of Ardyn’s voice dispelled most of his worry, allowing sleep to seep in slowly but surely. In a matter of minutes, his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted off.

Ardyn kept reading until he was certain Ignis was completely out and would not wake up until morning. Once he was sure, he laid the book down atop the dresser next to the bed, tucked the young advisor-to-be in tightly and pressed a hand over his forehead in brief contact.

“Tomorrow will be a better day,” he promised to the sleeping child quietly, then snuck out of the room, turning the lights off after himself.


	2. The Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seedling of yearning is sown in the soft soil of a young heart.

Over the next few years, despite the king’s numerous attempts to curb all unnecessary contact between the child advisor and Ardyn, the two found solace with each other. Whether it was intentional or not, Ignis found himself laying all his trust on Ardyn and Ardyn nurtured that faith to the best of his capabilities. Unlike the staff at the Citadel, the younger brother to the king lived on his own at the heart of Insomnia, close enough to drop in for a visit when required but befittingly far to avoid its influence. He shunned the company of his older brother. When Ignis grew older, he often wondered if this had been the way of things from the very get go, or if he had been the wedge between the two siblings’ relationship. Regardless, Ardyn visited the Palace a few times a year, bringing with him the sense of adventure Ignis revelled in. He was a quiet, collected child, expected to think and learn before acting. Ardyn was the complete opposite. He would disregard advice and turn his nose up at commands. What little excitement Ignis had in his life beyond fishing Noctis out of a heap of trouble the young prince was always buried in, it came from Ardyn, and he would welcome it with open arms.  
  
On Ignis’s eighth birthday, a modest party was held for him. The guests comprised mainly of the Citadel employees and their children, including his ward, Noctis, and the head of the Crownsguard’s son, Gladiolus, who Ignis had been introduced to shortly after his arrival two years prior. Gladio was Ignis’s age but couldn’t be farther from him in personality. Gladio was rash, hotheaded and loud on the outside, but Ignis had witnessed him apply wayward logic to situations that should be incomprehensible to a child. In his own way, Ignis respected Gladio.  
  
The guests had delivered their presents and the cake had been cut ceremoniously. The kids were all playing with toys, Ignis’s toys, beside the table, while the birthday boy himself sat at the end, back straight but his gaze glassy. Distantly he heard Noctis challenge Gladio to a cake eating contest, as there was still plenty of the overly sweet cream dream left. Ignis had sampled some of the cake and expressed gratitude for it, but truth be told he didn’t possess much of a sweet tooth, so the rest of the guests had taken turns in attempting to devour the remains of the sugar bomb. Half a cake still sat on the table, the firmness of the whipped cream giving into the heat of the room, tilting the entire dessert askew.   
  
One present yet awaited him. When he thought of lifting his eyes to scour the ballroom for the particular philanthropist, the sound of a chair being dragged from under the table startled him. There he was.  
  
“Not enjoying the party?” Ardyn asked once he had planted his backside on the chair next to Ignis. The child advisor managed a tired smile.  
  
“No. I am quite delighted to have so many people remember my birthday.”  
  
“I never thought to ask what kind of birthdays your uncle held for you,” Ardyn mused, propping his elbows on top of his knees and leaning his face into his hands.  
  
Ignis chuckled. “Not much to say about them. It was always just me and him. The gifts I received were chosen to advance my education.”  
  
“Sounds awful dull, your uncle.”  
  
That day Ignis had handed out polite smiles aplenty. They had left his facial muscles in a state of entropy. A real grin that reached the corners of his eyes hurt his face something fierce, yet when Ardyn handed him a parcel wrapped in gaudy papers and adorned with a bright bow, Ignis forgot about the pain.   
  
“Regrettably, my gift shan’t advance your education whatsoever, but I hope it won’t be a disappointment.”  
  
Ignis wanted to tell Ardyn how nothing he could ever bring would be a let down. Ardyn simply wasn’t capable of producing mundane presents.  
  
Meticulously, Ignis unwrapped the present. He was the sort of child to find where the tape was and peel it back as neatly as possible, undoing every fold and crease of the paper with careful precision. Then he would set the present aside to fold the remaining wrapping into a neat, completely even square before enjoying the contents. He indulged in the process of tidying up almost as much as he enjoyed the gift itself.  
  
“Next time I shall give you naught but a box full of paper, since you seem to delight in smoothing out wrinkles and folding puny squares,” Ardyn jested. Another smile contorted Ignis’s face, erupting into a candid giggle he hid behind his hands. When it died, he picked up Ardyn’s present and examined it carefully.  
  
It was a book, and based on the cover a fairy tale to boot. Ignis held his breath tracing the intricate, golden embellishments twisting and turning around the edges of the tome, forming delicate vines around the title.   
  
“‘The Last Leukorn’,” Ignis read out loud, following each letter carefully with his finger, not out of necessity, but to feel the curves of the raised letters.   
  
“This one was my favourite when I was but a young, sprightly boy around your age,” the red haired man revealed, inching his chair just a little closer to Ignis to gently coax the cover of the book open. On the first page that was usually blank, sat a scribble made with the deepest of deep black ink. Puzzled at the meaning of it, Ignis raised his eyes from the book to Ardyn.  
  
“Admittedly, I had to go through quite a bit of trouble to get my hands on this. I believe they have stopped printing it all together. Heartbreaking, really, for the story is nothing short of enchanting. But I found a copy, in pristine condition no less. But that was not enough, no sir. You see this?” He dragged a finger over the scribble on the first page. “This is the author’s autograph. Would you like to know how I managed to get it?”  
  
“Did you tell him you were the king’s brother?” Ignis asked, holding his breath, genuinely captivated by Ardyn’s story.  
  
“No. I did not. I told him it would be a part of a present to the brightest, kindest eight-year-old in all of Insomnia. I could barely contain him after that. The good fellow wanted to scribble his name on every page!”   
  
Ignis folded in half laughing. He was old enough to know when Ardyn was pulling his leg, but the way he weaved his words into tapestries of adventures never ceased to amuse the boy. He laughed so long that tears formed in the corners of his eyes and he had to gasp for air. His delight infected Ardyn as well, who joined in with quiet chuckles.   
  
Once the sudden outburst of mutual giggles had died down, the older man pressed a hand on Ignis’s forehead, smoothing back his dirty blond hair in long strokes. Ignis relished the contact, briefly closing his eyes before realising he did not want to reopen them. The day had been full of excitement and expectations, both something that tired Ignis out, and Ardyn’s touch had a further calming effect on him.  
  
“Hm. Somebody is drained,” Ardyn remarked while repeatedly brushing his fingers through Ignis’s hair, determined to sleek it back while it stubbornly hung over the boy’s eyes. “How does going upstairs sound to you? We could get a headstart on ‘The Last Leukorn’.”  
  
Slowly, Ignis cracked his eyes open, his vision blurry from exhaustion. The idea of sneaking out of the party like a pair of bandits sounded preferable to him, if not for the watchful eye the king kept on them. He was engrossed in a conversation with the other adults, none of them even remotely interested in Ardyn. Ignis’s impression that Ardyn wasn’t well liked in the court took a firmer hold, although the notion made him dislike each and every one of the members. Surely they had not heard the tales Ardyn spun for Ignis’s amusement, for otherwise they would have realised what wonderful company he was.  
  
“I don’t think the king would let us go that easily,” Ignis lamented, a faint smile on his lips but his voice filled with chill disappointment.  
  
Ardyn looked over his shoulder at Regis and the familiar scowl crept upon his face. He never scowled at Ignis, just at the other adults in court. His majesty seemed to be the one to carve the deepest creases on Ardyn’s face. Whenever that happened, Ignis wanted to plant his hands on each side of Ardyn’s face and pull the wrinkles smooth, but he was too well behaved for that. It was something Noctis would have done with his father.  
  
“You’re very observant, and sadly, also correct,” Ardyn sighed heavily as he turned back towards Ignis, flashing him an contrite smile. “Perhaps another day.”  
  
A veil of silence fell upon them momentarily, before their attention was caught by the crown prince loudly declaring to take Gladio down in a wrestling match after losing sorely in a cake eating contest. The Prince flung himself at the much larger kid, wrapping his legs around his neck and sending toys and sweets flying. The discord alerted both Gladio’s father, Clarus, and Regis to try and wrench the young prince off with the Amicitia boy’s face fast turning into the colour of beetroot from the lack of oxygen.  
  
Ignis snapped his attention back at Ardyn and their eyes met in silent agreement.  
  
“That looks to be our cue,” Ardyn whispered, discreetly pushing his chair back to not make a noise, and stood up. Ignis followed his example, squeezing free from between the chair and the table. “Quickly now, before Noctis gives up the fight.”  
  
On their tip toes they hurried towards the doors. Ardyn opened them to let Ignis slip through first and glanced behind him to made sure no one had caught up with their grand escape. He closed the doors as if nothing had ever transpired. They remained quiet and cautious the whole journey to the elevators, pressing their backs against the wall like a pair of spies whenever they heard a sound. Ignis’s heart was in his throat from the spike of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had never had so much fun in his short life. Ardyn savoured the high of breaking rules just as much, fueling Ignis’s excitement with roguish smiles reserved just for him.   
  
When they were safely in the confinements of the elevator, Ignis dared to let out a breath he had been holding half of the way. Every corner of his lithe body was trembling with thrill and he had to make sure he wasn’t crushing the book he so carefully clutched against his chest.   
  
Once on the right floor, the walk up to the private quarters was a short one. In his room, Ignis felt safe. Safer than he was in one of the grand ballrooms, surrounded by cold marble that bounced echoes off the walls. He and Noctis no longer shared a room. This one was Ignis’s alone, and he was proud of it, especially the tall bookcase Ardyn had bought him when he was relocated into this room. It was half full, mostly books about history, politics and etiquette, but sprinkled in between were tomes of fairytales, murder mysteries, and awe-inspiring adventures. They were little touches Ardyn had left in his life, small kindlings of rebellion burning hot and bright.  
  
The bed invited him in with clean, cool sheets, and after kicking off his shoes, Ignis accepted the invitation, crawling at the head end and crossing his legs. He opened the book in his lap and skimmed through the first pages, only to be playfully chastised by Ardyn.  
  
“Ah-ah, no starting without me, little Scientia,” the man reprimanded, sitting at the opposite end of the bed but shifting his body to lie vertically, his back pressed against the wall and his long legs hanging off the side. He crossed his hands over his stomach before asking: “Would you read out loud to me, please? I’m afeared my eyes have grown weary and I would very much like to experience this particular story again. It must have been, oh, decades, since I last read ‘The Last Leukorn’.”  
  
Ignis stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not that old.”  
  
“I am, in fact, immortal.”  
  
With a scoff, Ignis rolled his eyes and shook his head. He didn’t need Ardyn to shoot him a mischievous grin and a wink to know he was joking. Regardless, he was glad to read to Ardyn. He had noticed reading out loud improved his speaking skills, and he often cited arduous, complex texts to better understand their meaning and to grasp the accurate pronunciation of long, multisyllable words. Reading to Ardyn was more of a pleasure than a necessity. He wasn’t good at doing voices, not like Ardyn was, but he read diligently and picked himself back up after stumbling. Sometimes the true essence of idioms escaped him, and the older man never shamed him for not knowing. Instead, he spent time explaining words and even full sentences to Ignis, progressing slowly and making certain he never left the young boy behind.  
  
‘The Last Leukorn’ drew Ignis in quickly. From the very start he was invested in the white Leukorn’s plight of being the last of his kind, and wanted to keep reading to know what had happened to them. He managed a few pages at a decent pace before his ears picked up a sound of footsteps behind his door. Ardyn, slumped lazily over Ignis’s bed and resting his eyes, tensed up and the smile that had built up on his face from listening to the tale died on his lips.  
  
The footsteps passed his door and opened the one next to his room. Undoubtedly it was Regis putting Noctis to bed after the prince had tuckered himself out by trying to take down a kid twice the size of him. He had very likely thrown up on the floor at the effort and all the cake he had stuffed himself with. Ignis wished the king went away. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the edges of the book, wishing with all his might for Regis to walk past his door again and return to the ballroom. He listed all the Astrals and their titles in his head - Titan, the Archaeon; Ramuh, the Fulgurian; Leviathan, the Hydraean, Shiva, the Glacian; Ifrit, the Infernian; and Bahamut, the Draconian - and prayed each one of them to make his majesty disappear.  
  
That night Ignis lost a little faith in the Gods. No matter how much his small, insignificant heart pleaded, the door to his room opened and revealed the face of a discontented king.   
  
“I should have known this is where I would find you when I failed to count your and Ignis’s presence at the party, brother,” Regis chastised solemnly.  
  
“If the kingly business doesn’t take flight, you should try a career as a soothsayer.” Sardonic poison dripped from Ardyn’s words. Despite their jovial meaning the playful tone he usually took with his words crafted into blades was long gone, running for the hills.  
  
“I can understand repeating myself to a child, but you have no excuse to dismiss my decree, Ardyn.”  
  
“We were just reading.”  
  
“Outside, now.”  
  
Ignis knew the king was not mincing words and would drag Ardyn out by force if he didn’t follow his command to a tee. He shot a frightened look at Ardyn, who for once made no unnecessary theatrics and stood up as instructed. Before he headed for the door, he pressed a hand on Ignis’s head and leaned close to him.  
  
“Keep reading, Ignis, and when I come back, tell me what happened next to the Leukorn,” he whispered, combing Ignis’s hair back in tender motions. It did little to soothe the boy’s nerves, the cold hand of dread taking hold of his still beating heart. Then Ardyn was gone, following Regis out of the door as it shut behind them with a loud bang that shook the walls.  
  
He tried to return to the tale laid on his lap, but his eyes skipped words and jumped over paragraphs and he couldn’t understand anything he was reading. His concentration had been stolen from him, hidden in the breast pocket of Ardyn’s coat, and replaced with an ever growing chill of fear and guilt. It was his fault the king was scolding Ardyn. Ignis knew as well as Ardyn did that they should not be spending time together, although despite the numerous efforts the king had made to explain it to him, Ignis still didn’t know why. All he knew was that any time Ardyn spent more than a heartbeat with Ignis, his majesty was glancing daggers at his back or drilling a hole in his skull.  
  
Ignis let out a shaky breath, dog eared the page he was left on and set the book down on his dresser gently like it could shatter on impact. He walked on the balls of his feet to the door, convinced he could understand why the king repeatedly worked himself into a rage over Ardyn if he listened to their conversation. The set up was reminiscent of the first night he ever spent in the Citadel and Ignis felt a pang of remorse knowing both times he had been the reason for the two brothers’ argument. With a lump in his throat he leaned his ear against the solid oak door and breathed quietly, worried his unsteady inhales would drown out any words he could hope to catch.  
  
“Two years, Ardyn. For two years you have deliberately sabotaged my plans for Ignis. And for what? To spend a little time with a child that is not related to you in any manner!”  
  
“I will not explain myself again, Reggie. You know my reasoning.”  
  
“You are endangering everything! How can I get it through that thick skull of yours that it is imperative Ignis doesn’t get attached to you? Tell me, Ardyn, is there a way to make you understand? Another language you’re fluent at? Morse code?”  
  
“I would love nothing more than to see you attempt morse coding your pitiable excuse of a command to me, but alas, I’m sure the disappointment is mutual when I reveal it would do exactly nothing to sway me.”  
  
“Him becoming attached to you, Ardyn, if he isn’t already, is a threat to Noctis.”  
  
“The creativity you put behind the imaginary threats to your son is astonishing.”  
  
“Don’t mock me,” the king roared and Ignis felt his kneecaps dissolve. “The option to protect either Noctis or yourself from harm should never be on the table! But if he bonds with you, and is faced with the decision, what will he do, Ardyn?”  
  
“If it ever comes to that,” Ardyn explained calmly, but his voice was running cold like a midwinter river, “then with pleasure shall I spare him the pain of choice and die for him.”  
  
The declaration silenced both the king and Ignis. A chill numbness spread through the boy hiding behind the oaken door, starting from the middle of his chest and pouring through his limbs like a bucketful of ice water. It stopped his breathing and enfolded his heart in an ice cast where it would slowly stop pumping blood around his circulatory system. His lungs, held in a frigid grasp, refused to draw air, his innards like a frozen lake, with a storm brewing inside him that broke the ice on the surface and formed sharp crystals that cut him from within. Surely, he was going to die.  
  
“I won’t throw away my life for your son, Regis,” Ardyn whispered in the hallway, almost out of earshot. “By the Hexatheon, there are enough people in this city alone that would do that. But no one would remember Ignis, for he is not the son of the king. He is nobody’s son. Who would die for him, Regis, if not me?”  
  
Another heavy, oppressing veil of silence descended upon them, Ignis wheezing to catch his breath while his chest felt like it was collapsing. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes but even they failed to warm him up. Tired, frail and scared as his mind was, he managed to produce only a single thought: he needed Ardyn. He straightened up and lifted his hand on the metal door handle that would frost over from simply touching Ignis’s hand.  
  
“This is lunacy.” His majesty broke the silence, words coming out in breathy huffs from disbelief. “You love him.”  
  
Ignis opened the door. The men standing on the other side of the hall turned in unison, but their reactions to seeing Ignis shivering at the entrance to his room were mirror images.  
  
“Go back to your room, Ignis,” Regis commanded.  
  
“Astrals, Regis. Shut up for once.” Ardyn turned towards the boy, concern creasing his face in a way Ignis had never seen before. “What troubles you?”  
  
Ignis’s feet moved on their own accord and took him between the brothers. Had he been taller, the way he leaned his back against Ardyn could have been seen as a protective gesture, but he came off only as a terrified child, once again.  
  
He did not dare to lift his eyes from the marbled floor in the hallway when he spoke: “Sir, please, don’t yell at Ardyn anymore. I promise to protect Noct, always. I swear I will. I don’t mind giving my life for Noct.”   
  
Both of Ardyn’s large hands dropped on his shoulders, squeezing them tightly.   
  
“But I beg you, sir,” he tried to swallow the lump that was breaking his words, but it bobbed back in place soon after, “don’t let Ardyn die.”  
  
With a sharp inhale, the red haired man dropped on his knees on the floor, turned Ignis around and pulled him into his arms. Once enveloped in a firm embrace, the familiar scent of Ardyn hitting Ignis like a sack of bricks, the dam behind his eyes collapsed, sending a flood of tears rolling down his cheeks. He wrapped his thin arms around Ardyn’s broad shoulders, buried his face in the older man’s neck and wailed pathetically. He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be courageous, for Noct, but held in Ardyn’s strong arms he couldn’t stop the sobs that shook him to the core. The paralyzing numbness within him vanished, evaporated through his pores, and a new feeling slithered in him: overbearing sadness and fright, that together burned his face and turned his insides into liquid.  
  
“Now now, Ignis,” Ardyn cooed him, one of his hands rubbing circles on his lower back and the other one holding his face close and playing with the short strands of hair at the back of his neck. “It is not within my imminent plans to expire. And did I not already tell you I am immortal?”  
  
The joke was lost on the child, eliciting only a weak hiccup in the midst of all encompassing misery. A few paces away, a door creaked open, leaking another sliver of light into the corridor basking in the dying glow of the setting sun.  
  
“Dad?” Noctis’s feeble voice asked. “What’s wrong? Why is Ignis upset?”  
  
“It’s nothing, Noctis.” Regis’s voice was softer when he talked to his son than when he addressed Ignis or Ardyn.  
  
“It’s not nothing! Why is he crying, dad?” The crown prince working himself into panic at an alarming rate. What started out as a concerned whisper was gathering up the decibels and turning into shouting.   
  
Before Noctis could take another step into the hallway, Ardyn hissed at Regis: “What little empathy you have left, use it to tend to your son.”  
  
“Our discussion is not over, Ardyn. Once you have put Ignis back to bed, I expect to see you in my office,” the king murmured under his breath before striding over to his scion to soothe the empathetic storm Noctis was cooking up after seeing Ignis thoroughly broken in Ardyn’s arms.  
  
“Yes, Your Highness”, Ardyn scoffed, knowing all too well Regis would not hear him. His frustration died fast with a trembling child requiring his attention and he gently nosed the side of Ignis’s head.   
  
“High time little advisors returned to the warm comfort of their bed,” he suggested. Ignis prepared to unwind himself from the tall man to be escorted back into his room, but instead Ardyn’s hold of him tightened and he was lifted off the ground with little effort, as if he was light as a feather. As his body pressed flush against Ardyn’s chest he forgot to cry, a drop of warmth plunged deep into the icy pool of his innards, spreading across every organ and settling into a nest deep in his stomach. There it would remain until the end of his days, rising its head whenever Ignis recalled the memory of that night.  
  
Ardyn sat on his bed with a groan from the mattress. He would have lowered Ignis down on the sheets, had the young advisor not gripped the collar of his shirt, clutching the white fabric in his small fists to a point where it creased.  
  
“Please,” he begged with quiet desperation, “don’t go yet, Ardyn. Don’t leave me.”  
  
The tall man pulled back to study his face, and Ignis cast his eyes downward, embarrassed by the jewels of salt water still clinging to his lashes. Ardyn sighed, heavy and disheartened, and within that sigh Ignis heard a multitude of statements: “I shouldn’t”; “the king is waiting”; “I have pushed the boundaries enough for the night”. Ignis pinched his eyes shut, fighting off a new wave of tears as bravely as he could.  
  
“Just a while longer then,” Ardyn surprised him with and drew him back into a comforting embrace.   
  
He held him against his chest until his breath steadied and his eyes dried. He held him close, stroking his back and his hair and filling his lungs with his familiar scent. He held him and Ignis felt safety washing over him. Although he wished he could fall asleep in Ardyn’s arms, being close to him until he felt secure enough to survive the night on his own was the second best option.   
  
“Will the king ever let me see you again?” Ignis asked once emotional fatigue had settled over him and asking a difficult question no longer sent him to another bout of hysteria.  
  
Ardyn chuckled softly. “The king may command many things; his servants, the Crownsguard, armies and sometimes even entire counties. But I shall tell you a secret, just between you and yours truly, little Scientia.” He leaned close, right by Ignis’s ear, and a strange shiver ran through the child’s body. “He holds no power over me. He might wish to keep me from you, but I will sneak back in like a sly ferret. Without fail, I will always return to you.”  
  
A wide grin spread on Ignis’s face, another one in the books of rare smiles that reached up to the corners of his eyes and made his almond shaped eyes crinkle. He allowed himself to be lowered down on his back this time and lay still while Ardyn meticulously tucked the edges of his cover under him, wrapping him in a tight package like another one of his presents. All that was missing was a bright, gaudy rosette on top.  
  
Before Ardyn could slink out to get yelled at by the king somewhere far away from Ignis, the boy took Ardyn’s hand in his. The size difference between their hands boggled Ignis; Ardyn could easily take his and hide it within his fingers.   
  
“Ardyn,” he called, earning an adoring smile from the red haired wildling, “I love you too.”  
  
Ardyn sucked in a sharp breath before leaning over him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead and pressing the lightest of kisses on it. The bristles of the older man’s stubble prickled his skin, but Ignis did not find it unpleasant.  
  
Ever since that night, Ignis experienced frequent dreams about Ardyn. They were perfectly innocent to begin with, moments of brief escapades with the red haired man in the lands of unimaginable adventures. They would fight monsters together, Ardyn always taking a protective role, or gaze at the scenery of a vibrant fantasy world and enjoy a twinkling of catching up. Ignis never remembered the conversations they had in these dreams, but the feeling of safety was ever present and warming Ignis up from inside out when he awoke.  
  
However, as Ignis grew older, the dreams twisted and took a different connotation to them. Defeating beasts was no longer the focal point, but the moment when Ardyn picked him up from the battlefield and held him close, sometimes whispering soothing words that continued past simply providing comfort. The trust Ignis had in Ardyn never waned, not for a second, but a new sensation took to running alongside of them like a stray mutt, looking for an opportunity to feast. It made Ignis’s heart skip like it was trying to learn the steps to a sped-up waltz and his stomach coil like a slithery snake. After a night filled with dreams of Ardyn pressing ethereal kisses along his face, Ignis would wake up breathless and with a need to curl up against a pillow he would imagine as the older man.   
  
At that point, he was old enough to understand what he was feeling was no longer in the perimeters of normal, yet the dreams would not cease to haunt him. In an attempt to curb his growing yearning for the king’s brother, he distanced himself from the man. He could see the confusion in his eyes after that, but he gave the young advisor the space he believed he needed. Every time Ignis saw Ardyn, his affectionate smile stroking Ignis from the inside in soft motions, he mourned for not allowing himself to be held again. He missed the strong arms and the brush of a stubble dearly.  
  
While drudging through his teenage years, while his limbs grew longer and his posture straightened from a shy, quiet child to a proud, stoic young man, the dreams evolved with him. Just like he could not recognise himself in the frightened kid brought before the king of Insomnia so many years back, the dreams he had of Ardyn were no longer the same dreams he had started with. Gone were the nights of titillating adventures heated with the roars of mighty dragons. Instead, his body bathed in fiery liquid that scalded his skin where Ardyn’s large hands caressed. His lips no longer pressed against his skin to calm and soothe him, but claimed Ignis’s own in a crushing display of possessiveness. His body, still taller than the growing boy’s, wedged between Ignis’s thighs, forcing the liquid magma coursing through the young advisor’s veins to pool below his stomach. The dreams left Ignis panting in his bed, wide eyed and exhausted, thoroughly spent in his underwear. They left him terrified.  
  
As Ardyn’s mere presence intensified his dreams, Ignis was determined to put more distance between himself and the beautiful man with entwisted red hair. He began to avoid him, always finding an excuse to not spend time with him. Noctis and Gladio, and eventually the scrawny little blond Noctis had dragged into their circle of friends, Prompto, became optimum scapegoats. They provided Ignis with the much needed escape from the tentative approaches of Ardyn, who over the years had etched the following description into Ignis’s mind: sinfully attractive. The dreams never ceased, but their effect was dulled by infrequency. It seemed like staying as far away from Ardyn as possible was doing the trick, and so it went on for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come abroad the train straight to hell! I'll be your driver, your conductor and your engineer.


	3. The Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without a support the stem grows crooked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A teenager having inappropriate thoughts about an adult in this chapter ahoy! And vague descriptions of masturbation. Really vague.
> 
> This one is a lot shorter than anything before and anything after. It's sort of an interlude.

Ignis was seventeen when he took the Crownsguard final exam. He was among the youngest to try, albeit trumped by one of his own friends. It wasn’t fair to compare himself and Gladio, the son to the head of the Crownsguard. Clarus had trained his son to eventually take his place as the commander of the royal forces, so it came as a surprise to no one to learn Gladio had passed his exam at the age of fifteen. Regardless, Ignis had been progressing well for his age.  
  
The exam consisted of two parts: a written assessment and a mock fight. He had already passed the written part days before, showcasing his unbeatable knowledge of applicable history, safety regulations, and risk assessment. Now he only needed to prove he was equipped to deal with a hands-on incident if preventative measures failed, to keep Noctis and the citizens of Insomnia out of harm's way.  
  
The exam was held in a gymnasium, which served as the training grounds for both the Crownsguard trainees and the graduated members to keep their skills honed. Ignis had not told a considerable crowd about his final exam and expected only the three of his closest friends to arrive. He had invited his majesty, but Regis had declined politely, referring to an important meeting concerning a fundraiser held in his name. Ignis didn’t feel disappointed. Regis would surely find out about him passing through grapevine.   
  
He met his opponent outside the locker rooms, an older boy with stark black hair, old enough to be a graduate. Ignis speculated Gladio had also had the pleasure to weed out the freshmen who were looking to gain their glory quick and easy. He came to a conclusion he wasn’t in charge of Ignis’s mock fight must have been their close relationship as friends. Clarus could never grant an underhanded victory to a member of the Crownsguard.  
  
The boy was polite and didn’t dish out crude affronts or intimidating sneers before the commander himself met them in the corridor.   
  
“Nemus, you know the drill. Ignis, listen up. The only one who can fail this exam is you. Don’t worry about your opponent. Your point is not to beat your opponent, but to survive. Sure, if you think you can give Nemus here a good thrashing I don’t think anyone would object. Maybe that’d get him to join the drills with a bit of extra enthusiasm.” The commander glanced at the dark haired boy, who suddenly behaved like he was the one under scrutiny. He averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
“Your aim is to hold out for two minutes in the ring. Stepping, falling or getting thrown outside disqualifies you. Do whatever it takes to stay in. No one fighting style is hailed over another in Crownsguard. We need the slippery bastards to keep our enemies distracted while the big guys hand out punches. But no strikes to the face or groin, we want to keep things civil and gentlemanly. You fight with a single weapon of your choice. No magic, warping or pulling tricks out of the Armiger.” The last one he said while looking directly at Ignis with a petrifying stare. Ignis nodded in understanding, not that he had planned to switch weapons mid fight, but he wondered if someone else had. Only one other person who could conjure such antics, came to mind.  
  
Clarus finished up his list of rules with a heartfelt wish for good luck to Ignis, then led both boys into the gymnasium. As soon as the natural light pouring from the high up windows touched the skin on his bare arms with a thawing kiss, loud cheers echoed through the empty hall.  
  
“Whoo! You can do it, Iggy! Plant his face in the mud!” Gladio bellowed, shaking the very foundations of the gymnasium with his booming voice.  
  
“Your prince will be greatly disappointed if you lose!” Noctis chimed in.  
  
With a much quieter, high pitched voice, the newest addition to their group hurried to add: “Just do your best, okay! Noct doesn’t mean that! He’s not gonna be disappointed!”  
  
A smile had already started its ascent on his lips when he glanced to the side and made a note of another familiar character in the bleachers. A man with stormy, burgundy locks. Ardyn. Ignis swallowed the smile into the bottomless abyss of his stomach where it died a quiet death. He was sure he had not told Ardyn about his exam, and certainly had not made the mistake of inviting him to watch, as that would have been self-destructive if anything. To make matters worse, to the left of him sat a woman familiar to Ignis as well, although he had never had the pleasure to make proper acquaintance with her.   
  
The bright blond hair descending upon her slender shoulders, pale blue eyes and a skin more radiant than anyone Ignis had seen in his life belonged to Aera Mirus Fleuret, the aunt of the current Oracle. Ignis knew of her and had met her a few times during official events. She seemed to be favoured as Tenebrae’s chosen ambassador since her niece had taken the mantle of Oracle after her mother’s untimely passing. Lady Aera shared many features with the Nox Fleuret family line, all the way to the way she dressed, preferring form fitting outfits and the colour white.  
  
She had her hand resting on Ardyn’s arm and by the looks of it was in the process of entailing a side-splitting anecdote to him. He was chuckling, the wave of laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes. How infuriatingly gorgeous he had gotten over the years, the softness of his younger self giving way to harsh angles and a piercing stare, his stubble growing in darker and more prominent. Although he never tolerated his hair long like Gladio’s, the winding curls of his deep red hair touched his collar bones. Ignis’s mouth drew into a thin line. Damned he was if he allowed Ardyn of all people to distract him from his exam.   
  
As per instructions, the young advisor chose a single weapon from the rack at the wall. All members of the Crownsguard were adept at multiple arms, but gravitated towards a particular weapon of their choice. Ignis was no less, wielding swords of different sizes as effortlessly as he handled guns and shields. He was particularly fond of daggers, but avoided the most obvious route for two reasons: Firstly, he could not be certain his opponent had never witnessed him during training and wasn’t aware of his strong suits and downfalls. Secondly, his tactic for the upcoming match was to keep his opponent at an arm’s length at all times. Daggers required close combat which put him at risk of sustaining a force he couldn’t anticipate, throwing him off balance and out of the ring. Instead of twin blades, he opted for the wooden pole. His opponent chose the short sword, by far the most popular weapon amongst Crownsguard due to its light weight and medium reach, requiring no particular strength or sleight of hand.  
  
Nemus twirled the weapon in his hand, testing its weight and balance. Ignis did no such thing, instead waiting for his opponent to finish. The dark haired boy stepped next to him and murmured: “Good luck,” before waving at Clarus so signal their readiness. Ignis sensed no hostility in his words.  
  
When the battle began, Ignis found himself immediately pushed back by the older boy, who struck tactically to shepherd the young advisor’s dodges backwards rather than to the side. Before he knew it, he was nearing the edge of the ring. He had but glanced at the bleachers, wondering if Ardyn was watching. Within the walls of his mind he cursed loudly, chastising himself for allowing the sight of Ardyn to divert his attention. With a great deal of effort and a handful of dexterity, he switched his own and his opponent’s position, weaseling past him and towards the middle of the ring where he would be as far from the boundaries as possible. His heels braced against the floor Ignis took a defensive stance, ready to safeguard his position from all directions.   
  
His ploy worked. As long as he kept Nemus a pole’s distance away by deploying debilitating strikes and parrying his swings Ignis remained at the centre of the ring, firmly planted at his chosen spot. When Clarus shouted the end of the match, Ignis’s arms were trembling from the strain and his knees were ready to give up. His grey tank top was drenched in sweat that made it stick to his chest and back. Despite the discomfort, he was overjoyed to come to the realisation that he had passed the mock fight and would be made official Crownsguard within the coming week. Regis would insist on holding a ceremony for the occasion, one marked up on his calendar so he could attend. Ignis was never one for grand events but would gladly endure a small celebration, one just for friends and family. Of course, Ardyn would be there but Ignis would do his utmost to mingle with the rest of the guests.  
  
Speaking of the devil, he was descending the stairs down to the arena, having left Aera up in the bleachers. A proud smile decorated his handsome features and suddenly Ignis had no time to look for an escape.  
  
“My, have you grown capable,” he praised with the soft purr of his voice and the younger man wanted to melt on the floor. “You did marvelous in the ring. The polearm, what an astute choice!”  
  
“Thank you, sir.” Ignis bowed alongside his words.  
  
“Come now. We may have not chatted for a while but you ought to remember my distaste for titles.” Ardyn’s smile held a sorrowful tinge to it. Ignis felt it tug at his heartstrings. He tugged back, turning his eyes towards the bleachers and to the woman leaning on her arm.  
  
“I was not aware you rubbed shoulders with foreign royalty,” he remarked, steering the conversation away from reminding him how long he had kept Ardyn at an arm's length, as if he was another opponent looking to strike him out of a ring.  
  
“Aera?” Ardyn asked, bemused. “She’s an old acquaintance, a friend of sorts. The only foreign dignitary whose company I don’t utterly detest.”  
  
Ignis bit the inside of his cheek, willing away the burn of jealousy scorching his throat.   
  
“Anyhoo, my reason for descending the mighty peanut gallery was to invite you out for some good old revelry, a jubilee if you would, since it seems rather unavoidable you’ll be donning the Crownsguard uniform sooner rather than later. What do you say?” The words had a hopeful lilt to them.  
  
Ignis observed the man briefly, which was by far the greatest mistake he had made that evening. His soft lips, curled into a smile, sent Ignis’s heart racing. The dark, bristly stubble contoured his sharp jawline, an image nothing short of perfection. It led the young advisor’s eyes wandering down in his strong neck and wide chest that pulled the fabric of his dress shirt thin. If Ignis only used his imagination, he could see the outline of Ardyn’s nipples through the fabric. His breath quickened and his pulse hammered in his ears. Ardyn was going to notice his ceaseless staring.  
  
 _Yes,_ he wanted to respond, _yes, whisk me away like old times, hide us in a place where nobody can find us, and once there, praise me with a kiss. Not on my cheek, not on my forehead, but on my lips. Hold me close like you used to, wrap your arms around me and make me feel safe, before you lay my body on the ground and rise on top of me. Grind your hips against mine, rut me to a whimpering mess, and then, take me with a force I’ve never felt before. Make me yours, Ardyn.  
  
_ Ignis cleared his throat.  
  
“I’m sorry to disappoint, but Noct claimed to have made a reservation for us at a restaurant for the evening. I suspect it was either to celebrate my victory, or to soothe the burn of embarrassment had I lost.”  
  
The smile on Ardyn’s lips flickered like a candle and guilt settled deep into Ignis’s core, gnawing at his resolution.  
  
“It can’t be helped then,” the older man said, clearly hiding the disappointment that leaked through his teeth when he feigned a broken smile to Ignis. “Perhaps another time?”  
  
Ignis felt bad lying, but telling the truth was an even greater obstacle. “Yes, another time,” he promised, intending to break it.  
  
“Once more, your performance was astounding,” Ardyn said, quietly. “I’m proud of you, Ignis.”  
  
The young advisor swallowed. The lump in his throat made it impossible for him to answer, but he nodded before hurrying off to the locker room to get changed. He spent extra time in the shower, clawing at his chest where his heart was buried under six feet of remorse and shame. His free hand tugged at his aching cock, a more overwhelming need than his wish to simply disappear. He bit his lip, stifling a groan from the delightful image of Ardyn pressing against his back and stroking him to completion.   
  
Once the shower had flushed his seed down the drain and Ignis only knew the feeling of oppressing guilt, he turned off the stream and got himself ready for an evening at the restaurant, courtesy by His Highness and arranged by Noctis. At least Ignis was delighted to know Noctis had managed a table reservation by himself, although he suspected Gladio had written down what he needed to say on the phone.  
  
At the table, contrary to Ignis’s innermost wishes, the conversation turned to Ardyn.  
  
“Hey Specs,” Noctis asked and Ignis braced for either a stupid or an invasive question, or both, “what happened to you and Uncle Ardyn?”  
  
Ignis picked up his wine glass filled with water and stared into it to avoid the curious eyes of the black haired boy.   
  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“You used to be really close when we were kids, right? Did something happen?”  
  
Gladio leaned in, lowered his voice and asked: “Did he molest you?”  
  
“No, he has never touched me,” Ignis declared, pursing his lips together. _I wish he had_ , his useless microwave of a brain screamed. “We grew apart, I suppose.”  
  
“That’s funny, because I could’ve sworn the guy was desperate to talk to you after your fight and you wouldn't even look at him,” Noctis jabbed, showing surprising tenacity to get to the bottom of this particular mystery.  
  
"Yeah, agreed,” Gladio added. “The guy was sitting just a few seats from us and I could hear every gasp he made whenever your opponent landed a good hit."   
  
"His knuckles were white from squeezing the bench below him!"   
  
"Damn Iggy, that's probably why you passed. The opponent glanced at the audience and saw Ardyn with his murderous intent and just thought 'Nope, throwing this beanpole outta the ring isn't worth my life' and gave up the fight.”   
  
Noctis and Gladio were wheezing from laughter when Prompto joined in with: “I wouldn’t wanna go against him either! He looks scary.”  
  
Ignis kept his eyes in the swirling water of his glass and refused to join in the merrimaking. His chest felt warm knowing Ardyn was still protective of him despite the skills he had showcased in the match, but the warmth had needles to it, like hugging a cactus. 


	4. The Zenith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With warmth to stave the chill the vines meander and claim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, better start with the warnings.
> 
> If you were here just to witness what an adorable parent Ardyn would make, heed my call and turn on your heels! This is where the problematic content starts.
> 
> To the rest of you, who are currently enjoying this thrill ride straight to hell and want to see it until the end: Welcome to my tour of sin. Our current station is: Sexually frustrated. Next up: Things finally get spicy.
> 
> Also this and the next part were originally a single chapter but it would've been somewhere along the lines of 15k long and I thought no one would sit through that.

As one of his many responsibilities as Noctis’s retainer, Ignis had been left in charge of directing and overseeing the arrangements to his coming of age celebration. The official event would be held in a grand ballroom in the heart of Insomnia, with numerous influential guests making a song and dance about being invited. Several publications had covered the venue antecedently, hoarding attendee statements like squirrels facing a harsh winter stockpiling acorns. Even the company responsible for floral arrangements had been pestered for an interview, reporters no doubt looking to find a greater symbolic meaning behind the chosen blossoms beyond the Crown prince’s fondness for the colour blue.  
  
Once everything had been arranged and the occasion was well underway, Ignis could only describe his mood as exhausted. He had stood by Noctis during the formal part of the evening, all through awkward handshakes, insincere compliments, and extravagant presents no 21-year-old should ever receive in their life. The advisor was proud of his ward, for feigning interest. As the evening progressed, what had started as Noctis’s induction to the corrupt nature of politics, where favours were exchanged for promises, mellowed out into nothing more than usual court gossip scarcely worth mentioning.

With a glass of punch in his hand, Ignis withdrew where intrusive eyes were fooled into thinking he was part of the shadows. He had never been one to revel before a crowd, to have every little move he made scrutinised by the masses, yet he could not will himself to be like Noct, who sacrificed refinement for comfort effortlessly. Ignis expected perfection, and tired himself out chasing it. 

He was content following his ward and his carousing with their mutual friends, paying unnecessary attention to Gladio’s sorry attempts at discreet courting. They had not come out in the open about it, but from the looks they gave each other, their bashful, secretive smiles, and Gladio quite blatantly being handsy with his love interest, Ignis didn’t require the brain of a master detective to figure out him and Prompto were kindling the fire of young love. It was tentative and vigilant, like they were scared that the cruel winds could snuff it out before a flame was ever born.

Then there was Ignis, shying away from the flying sparks, stuck in a never-ending hamster wheel of unrequited love for a man he should not be yearning for. After all these years, despite his efforts to cram his feelings to the back of his mind, removed from the rest of him, the attempt was akin to safekeeping water in a cardboard box: eventually the box would melt into a saggy lump of paper and the floors would still end up slippery. The dreams bothered him less than the fact that whenever he let his mind run amok without hypervigilance, it would skitter to Ardyn and prance around the thought of his lips, curved into a brash smile, and the memory of his strong arms around Ignis, a cage where no threat could touch him as long as he remained within. When Ignis looked at Gladio and Prompto, a twinge of envy soured his mood. To have it easy like them, to find companionship in another of the same age, to know one’s feelings were returned, Ignis would have given almost anything to achieve that.

Far on the right side of the ballroom, he caught the sight of the Tenebraen ambassador among the guests. Aera, as usual, looked stunning in her floor length evening gown, so white it glowed in the dimly lit room. Her incandescent expression lit kindred smiles amongst the small group of people she addressed. Ignis did not hesitate to think she was perfect for Ardyn, her radiant, compassionate personality complimenting his.

“Extraneare,” a familiar voice called on his left and Ignis’s heart jumped, first from the surprise and then from recognising the source of it.

“Hm?”

“An ancient, lavish word for ‘estranged’,” Ardyn educated, leaning against the wall next to Ignis. He looked better than Ignis had ever seen him, curls of wild hair grazing his sharp jawline and the sides of his neck. A simple, black waistcoat pulled the fabric of his shirt tight against his body, accentuating his form. Presumably he had left a jacket at the reception, but Ignis was far too busy forcing his eyes away from Ardyn’s lean waist to worry whether one existed at all. 

“Perhaps,” Ignis answered in a diplomatic, detached voice.

“I’m glad to notice certain things have not changed despite…” his words trailed off, their zest gone. There was a sigh hidden behind his smile, a melancholic, weary one. The silent scream of a man ready to give up. Ignis swallowed just as Ardyn’s hand dived into the pocket of his sleek trousers and fished out a box made out of a dark, navy velvet.

“A modest gift.”

“I am not the celebrator.”

“Noctis has already received his present. This one is for you.”

“I cannot accept it,” Ignis hurried to decline, before the older man could thrust another memento of himself on him. Ignis had enough of those: memories of closeness and security and care someone had put into him, cultivated him carefully like a sensitive flower.

The smile on Ardyn’s lips died in an instant, Ignis immediately missing the gentle curve he had gotten used to in the past years. His usually bright, mischievous eyes darkened, yet he held out the box with quiet determination.

“Is the gifter the reason you refuse a gesture of affection?” he asked. The hurt in his voice ripped open old wounds in Ignis, scars running deep in his soul like gnarled branches of dead wood, struck in a storm, burning flesh around them. Old guilt rose to mentor the new one, showing it how to wrench Ignis’s heart into a twisted, dry sponge.

Ignis should have said yes. He should have been honest with Ardyn and admitted he was the reason Ignis couldn’t accept a gift. He should have been honest as long as it served to rid him of the man. He should have banished him from his life far, far away where his smile wasn’t pouring nourishing water over Ignis’s parched spirit. 

Instead, he gave in, the torture of Ardyn’s despair a Catherine wheel he couldn’t withstand, and whispered: “Forgive me, I was out of line. I thank you for the sentiment.”

He held his hand forth to accept the present. Ardyn’s smile crept back on his face in a triumphant reunion, although it was still solemn and soft at the edges. 

“Let me,” he offered and opened the lid of the box, revealing it to be a jewelry case. Within it, a simple, silver pendant of a dagger. Carefully the older man picked it up on his hand and tossed the box into the punch bowl. Upon landing it displaced some of the refreshments, spilling them on the table. It then settled to bobbing up and down in the crystal basin like a rubber duck.

Ardyn closed the distance between himself and Ignis, breaching the advisor’s personal space. Ignis squeezed his eyes shut tight, frightened of looking at Ardyn so close. Such an act would hardly make a difference when the older man stood before him, chest nearly touching his, the scent of him sending Ignis’s mind into a peaceful acceptance of drowning. When his arms caged Ignis’s head in between them to slip the pendant around his neck, Ignis tucked his chin in and bit into the flesh of his lower lip to avoid whimpering. He was so close, by the Astrals,  _ he was so close. _ The younger man wanted to lean forward and press his face in between Ardyn’s firm pectorals. When Ardyn enfolded the collar of his shirt over the silver chain, Ignis wanted nothing more than for him to hold him again.

The weight of the pendant rested upon the young man’s chest, light as a lover’s caress against the heavy burden of guilt lying atop of Ignis’s shoulders, compressing his spine. He swallowed, eyes trailing upwards over Ardyn’s jugular, his stubbled jaw, tempted to rest on the gentle arch of his alluring smile but flicking away as if a simple act of looking was going to scorch his retinas. His gaze met Ardyn’s, the tenderness in his blue eyes a salve Ignis loathed to scorn.

“I have missed you dearly, Ignis. I haven’t the faintest idea of what I could have done to make you detest me so,” the older man lamented, straightening Ignis’s collar meticulously, “but allow me to amend it, I beg of you.”

Ignis’s heart caught in his throat, sealing it up like a medicinal capsule swallowed sideways. While a faint smile continued to decorate Ardyn’s handsome features, it was a smile in name only, a hollow mask used to conceal the pain behind his eyes, the firm belief that Ignis abhorred him. 

The words slipped out too fast, aggressive, hasty: “I don’t hate you. I have never hated you. I—” The last frog to jump out of his mouth Ignis caught before the final leap, sealing it behind pursed lips and a grimace, face turned away like he could spit it out in the corner without anyone, especially Ardyn, noticing. “I don’t hate you.”

He wished he could tell Ardyn how much he missed him back. Over a decade he had deprived himself of the older man’s enchanting company, hoping against all odds it would wipe his memory of the sweetness of his embrace. He had been starving his memories of the food needed to create hazy daydreams of Ardyn pulling him onto his lap and never letting go. He wanted to give up his unsavory fantasies, trade them for the familiar comfort of Ardyn’s tight hold. Nevertheless, no God would ever accept such an imbalanced transaction. What were a young man’s immoral desires against the unconditional love of a near-divine entity, if not crude oil in the waking beauty of a raging sea, tainting and corrupting.

Despite Ignis’s insistence, the lack of explanation kept the sadness swaying in Ardyn’s stormy eyes, until the sound of vigorous carousing snapped his attention to the opposite side of the venue. As the only capable member of the squad, Gladio had popped a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne open, spilling the bubbly beverage on the plush carpet floors. The reaction was as expected, and his grandeur show of how to waste money the fastest by pouring it onto the floor earned loud cheers from the smaller boys.

“Coincidentally, I do not remember us celebrating  _ your _ coming of age,” Ardyn said, alluding to a further suggestion with his wavering stance, weight shifting from one foot to the other. 

“You would be correct. We didn’t.” At least, Ardyn didn’t. Ignis had had a modest celebration. First with his close circle of friends, watching a movie together at Noctis’s apartment. Later he had had another one, even more humble than the first. Gladio had taken him out drinking, knowing he would never allow the two underage members of their troupe to indulge in intoxicating substances. It was all Ignis had needed at the time.

“Come with me.”

“Pardon?”

“Let us enjoy a late bacchanal in honour of your blooming maturity,” the older man suggested, gesturing Ignis’s attention towards the door with a smile that flicked from benign to devilish like a light switch, “just between us.”

Ignis could not deny his heart jumped at the thought of spending time alone with Ardyn, regardless where it was the older man wanted to take him. However, the responsible part of his mind cut ahead of him and flashed the brake lights to the rest of his brain, halting his whimsical heart from steering the occasion off rails.

“I’m afraid I am gravely needed here. My supervision is essential –”

“Please, do not make me beg again,” Ardyn breathed, yet pleading was exactly what he had done. “It’s unbecoming of me.”

He held out a hand, as if to take Ignis’s, beckoning him to follow him out to the cold night. His expression wavered like a shadow of a flame from hopeful to misgiving. Ignis knew it was a dreadful idea, one of the worst he had ever had, to take him up on that invitation, to see how deep into the hole this white rabbit of a man would bury him. What he feared even more was the letdown on Ardyn’s face if he backpedaled on his words. To claim he did not hate him and refuse his company before the words were scarcely out of his mouth, was nothing short of gainsay.

His heart had already sustained the impact of Ardyn’s distraught over his supposed animosity towards him once. He could not take it twice. He sighed at the heavy burden of choice.

“I surmise a drink or two couldn’t hurt,” he said, agreeing in the most roundabout way he knew how and glanced over his shoulder. He wondered if Aera would be joining them. He wondered if Noctis would mind him disappearing on his special day.

His quiet questions were answered with a “no” and “don’t think about it”, as Ardyn strode towards the door, the spark in his eyes and the charming smile on his face compelling Ignis to tag along with devil’s magic. On the way out he grabbed his jacket from the reception in haste.

Ardyn walked through the streets of Insomnia with Ignis in tow, only a few steps behind, the space between them the length of the tightrope the advisor was treading allowing himself to savour Ardyn’s company. He didn’t know where to set his eyes. On the street or on Ardyn, both would lead him astray, but in drastically different ways. He settled on a compromise of bouncing his gaze off the high-rise buildings like an animal caught in a trap, noticing small details of the apartments above them when he blatantly refused to notice how Ardyn’s hair curled above his shoulder blades.

It was a sheer chance of luck he caught the older man turning the corner and taking them down the stairs to a narrow door with a small sign above that read ‘Oddly Specific’ in cursive letters. A small bell rang above them as they entered the establishment.

“Ah, Mister Izunia,” they were greeted by an older gentleman behind the bar. He was dressed smartly with his long, silvery hair tied behind his head in a neat ponytail held together by black leather ribbon. Seeing Ignis evoked a seemingly shocked reaction from him.

“By the Astrals, Ardyn, this one is young even by your standards!”

“Oh, stuff a sock in it, Alexander,” Ardyn groaned, although Ignis could’ve sworn a familial affection was colouring his words. “This is Ignis, so please refrain from further vulgarity.”

Suddenly the young advisor’s mind was brimming with questions that were pushing and shoving each other in the queue to get out of his head grown too cramped to hold all of them. He was desperate to know what the bartender meant with his notion about Ignis’s age. He wanted to learn what these supposed “standards” were that Ardyn did or didn’t have, and who was this Izunia they spoke of. Above all, he needed to find out why a wave of understanding washed over Alexander’s face when Ardyn brought up his name.

“That aside, what would the two gentlemen like to moisten their throats with? Assuming you’re old enough to drink at all.” Alexander shot a suspicious look into Ignis’s direction.

“I’ll have you know I’m old enough, twenty-three to be precise. Ah!” He patted himself down quickly, only to realise he had left his jacket at the venue and with it, his wallet. He contemplated returning back to the party, either to retrieve his possessions in all silence or to crawl under one of the catering tables to hide his embarrassment but Ardyn waved his hand at the bartender.

“It is as he says,” he confirmed, and with a shake of his head Alexander seemed to give in. “A bottle of the usual tonight, we have cause to celebrate!”

“A special occasion?” the older gentleman inquired, gesturing them to a table in a dimly lit room with only a few other patrons besides them.

“Indeed. My nephew’s coming of age day.”

“Which you are aptly spending without your nephew.”

“Hmm, how do you know me so well?” Ardyn purred the rhetorical question, seating himself on a dark red armchair comfortably. Ignis sat down more rigidly across from him.

“And what would the young master like from the menu?” asked Alexander gently, without the sharp edge of the snark he cut Ardyn with.

“A whiskey. Neat, please.”

The bartender’s icy blue eyes dilated at the notion of a young man ordering a drink uncommon in his age group. His eyes traveled slowly from Ignis to Ardyn and back.

“Whiskey, you say? Is there secretly a 40-year-old within that young body of yours?”

“Not yet,” Ignis answered, regretting instantaneously the kind of horrid confessions he would make two glasses into mild punch and sufficiently intoxicated by the soft timbre of Ardyn’s melodic, playful voice and the promise of his company. Ignis had not yet seen a glass of stronger substances that evening, and he already felt like he was swimming through a pool of cotton. He turned away from Alexander’s prying eyes, terrified what the older gentleman with a keen stare could dig up from him if he looked into his soul long enough.

Instead of staring at the wallpapers the same shade as Ardyn’s hair and attempting to make patterns out of insignificant air bubbles stuck underneath, Ignis dared to glance at Ardyn across from him. An amused smile danced on his lips and forced Ignis to curl up back within himself. The red haired man was calm, entertained, and Ignis could’ve drawn blood biting the inside of his cheek, pushing down and smothering the nagging, pesky little feeling inside him that felt proud for managing to delight Ardyn.

When Alexander brought down their drinks, a neat whiskey for Ignis and a bottle of red wine with a glass to Ardyn, Ignis used the distraction to ask: “Do you talk about me often?”

“Mmm,” Ardyn hummed, taking his time to fill the glass with the red liquid – why was everything red in here? – and sipped it elegantly, “incessantly. It’s a rather merry game that I play, if not morbid. Half of my suitors believe I have a child, the other half thinks I am cheating on a paramour. My game is to figure out which one it will be that night.”

Ignis made a sound of understanding before lifting a glass to his lips. The whiskey Alexander served was high quality, with gentle notes of vanilla at the fore and a hint of smoked wood. The liquid warmed Ignis’s throat as it streamed down, the heat rising on his cheeks faster than he had anticipated. Or perhaps it was the mere knowledge that the way Ardyn spoke of him to his admirers brought up associations of a doting father or a devoted boyfriend. The thought of the latter made Ignis squeeze his glass harder between his fingertips. He wished to avert his eyes from the older man entirely, instead focusing on the honey coloured liquid in his glass.

A silence fell between them like a wet duvet of goose feathers, looming over them, heavy and oppressing. The relaxed music playing so faintly in the background that it took a moment for Ignis to recognise it as jazz did nothing to carve the uneasiness out of him. The anxiety stuck to him like an insect to fly paper. Several times Ardyn attempted a conversation with him, but Ignis abstained from a meaningful discussion, opting to instead answer in as few words as he could. It was tiresome, keeping up the charade of callousness, when in truth he ached to know the kind of people Ardyn brought with him to an atmospheric place like ‘Oddly Specific’. Had he ever brought Aera with him? What did he discuss with the potential lovers, other than Ignis? Ignis’s glass was empty before he could bring himself to interrogate Ardyn. 

Within the confinements of his trouser pocket his phone buzzed. It was a miracle he had brought it with him, since everything else lay abandoned at the expensive venue his friends were gleefully attending without him. Incidentally, when he pulled out the phone, Noctis’s name was displayed over the lock screen with half of the message he had sent. A full hour after the fact the crown prince was concerned over his disappearance and asking if he was planning to come back. He, Gladio, and Prompto were planning on heading out for drinks since Noctis was finally old enough to legally get sauced. 

Over Ignis’s phone, Ardyn followed his every move with a slight tilt to his head, curious, playful. Ignis cleared his throat, picked his mind up from the gutter like the imprudent vagrant it was and set to reply to Noctis. He described how he had stepped out for but a mere moment with Ardyn and would return post haste.

Lifting his gaze up but mindful of not looking too long into Ardyn’s inquisitive, scintillating blue eyes, reminiscent of a blithe lake after a tempest, basking in the fresh glow of the waning moon, lest he fell in and drowned under the whimsical waves, Ignis attempted to explain the situation: “Noctis and our friends are heading out and wish me to join them. I’m afraid our night must be cut short.”

The spark in Ardyn’s eyes dwindled and died. His gaze swept the table from behind his dark lashes before meeting Ignis’s, the nod of a vanquished man in tow.

“Naturally, I shall escort you back. Give me a moment to step into the gentlemen’s room,” he requested, pushing the armchair back to stand up and make his way to the restrooms. His walk lacked the usual spring, resembling rather the morose lumber of a death row inmate.

It devoured Ignis from the inside to see the man he was so fond of trounced. With a heavy sigh, he returned his glass on the table, feeling his body slide downwards in active defeat, boneless. Guilt clawed at the walls of his mind, carving words of self-deprecation into the insides of his eyelids, insults he could see when he squeezed his eyes shut. Pinching the bridge of his nose right below his glasses, he wondered what kind of a stroke had compelled him to follow Ardyn in the first place when he knew there were only two roads the night could take: bad and worse. They had ended in the latter.

For the first time since they had arrived, Ignis heard the ring of the bell hanging above the door to ‘Oddly Specific’. He glanced at the entrance, parting his lips in graceful surprise when he recognised the man at the fore. He couldn’t remember his name or where he had seen him, but he was certain he knew him. Based on his eyes lighting up and bouncy steps leading him over to Ignis, so did the man.

“I remember you! The kid from Crownsguard! Man, it’s been a while, right?” The older boy greeted and suddenly a wave of memories washed over Ignis. The boy’s name was Nemus. He had been Ignis’s opponent in the Crownsguard mock exam. Jovial as ever, Nemus extended his hand to Ignis which the advisor took. Politely they shook hands, the dark haired youngster considerably more excited than Ignis. 

As their hands parted, the older boy rubbed the back of his neck. His hair was short underneath with sleek, long strands at the top and front. Ignis imagined he would’ve been quite handsome had his mind not been so thoroughly occupied by an older gentleman with a sharp, wolfish smile, and keen eyes. He could barely fit a coherent thought in there, let alone another person.

“Back at the exam I wouldn’t have guessed you were one of us,” Nemus admitted, apologetic.

Confusion coloured Ignis’s face as he said: “I’m not sure I follow.”

“What I mean is, uhh,” the older boy tested the words, but noticing Ignis’s lost expression, gave up the fight. “Nevermind. You here alone?”

“No. I am with a,” Ignis hesitated, searching for the right expression himself, “friend.”

“Oh, you’re into older men? My bad.” Nemus hurried to respond, which served only to disorient Ignis further, until Ardyn’s tall frame crept up into his peripherals. He told himself it was nothing but the alcohol rushing the blood to his face, but the burn of embarrassment coloured his cheeks rosy. He wanted to shout after the older boy and lie through his teeth that his assumption was a mistake. Instead, he shrunk to the corner of his chair, devoid of all hope of saving his face.

“Is the good gentleman leaving already?” Ardyn asked, watching Nemus join a table of people he seemed to know rather well.

“Ardyn, what kind of place have you brought me into?” Ignis breathed, deliberately dismissing the older man’s well-meaning question with one of his own.

“My sincerest apologies. I should have guessed a handsome young man such as yourself would receive unwanted attention in a place like this.” No matter how he tried, Ardyn’s words could not quite reach the tone of contrite. With a lilt of amusement he continued: “It is a club reserved for gentlefolk preferring a certain type of company.”

Ignis stared into the void processing the given information. His breath grew quicker as it dawned to him that the certain kind of company must have meant men. Other men. His eyes rebound off the other patrons and he realised how obvious it was. Not a single woman had entered the establishment since their arrival and not a single one had a seat in the room before. This led Ignis to the conclusion that Ardyn, the man he had pegged for being romantically involved with the Tenebraean ambassador, was only involved with people of his own sex.

Certainly, half the population of Eos could be counted within that radar but Ignis near whined from fathoming it was  _ his half _ .

Worse yet, Ardyn had called him  _ handsome _ . Ardyn had looked at him and within his platonic heart discerned him as  _ handsome _ . Ignis bit his lip and turned his head against his shoulder. It was all he could do to contain himself, to stop his bones from turning into liquid and his muscles into useless noodles. He was afraid that if he stood up, he would crumble on the floor into a vaguely himself-shaped pile of clothes and elastic skin. The warmth of the room was turning him into a memory of the whipped cream he ate with the cake on his eighth birthday, the day Ardyn held him tight against his chest and filled his head with his heady scent. The day he remembered thinking for the first time that he wanted to marry Ardyn when he grew up. 

Grown up Ignis ran after his frolicking breath, trying to catch it in a net made of obscene fantasies. He needed to get out. Disregarding his wobbly legs, Ignis scrambled on his feet, making his way to the door in a hurry. He gave Alexander behind the counter a cordial nod and expected Ardyn to handle the bill for him as he rushed into the night, welcoming the slap of the cooling air against his face. 

As he stood in the street, face turned towards the moonlit sky, his heart singing praises to the mild evening gusts of Insomnia, the faint toll of a tiny bell preceded his companion joining him. 

“Ignis, I am truly sorry if my choice of locale offended you,” he began, but Ignis lifted a hand to silence him.

“I am not offended,” he clarified tacitly, “but I am feeling rather poorly. I desperately needed fresh air. May we get a move on? I’m sure Noctis must be worried about me.”

“Noctis could do without his royal nanny for a while, but I shan’t impose,” Ardyn agreed, the expression of defeat burrowed deep the creases of the forced smile chiseled on his face. Ignis remembered the times he wanted nothing more than to take Ardyn’s face between his hands and smooth the worry lines that formed around his stately features only when he talked about him. Now he knew he could not stop at that. If even a digit on his hand found its way on Ardyn’s face, it would sound the bells of doom for Ignis. 

Ardyn gestured him to follow and Ignis trusted him to lead him back to their original celebration. It wasn’t until the king’s brother led him through the winding streets into a small park located in the heart of the city that Ignis cursed his distracted reaction speed.

“Why are we going this way?” he questioned but didn’t stop following. Watching Ardyn’s hips sway as he walked a few steps ahead of him was as intoxicating as the whiskey he had panic downed.

“It’s a scenic route.”

They came to a bench set at the side of the path, illuminated by a single, yellow hued streetlight. Ardyn slowed down his steps until he was standing next to the seat, then turned to face the young advisor. Under the scrutinising eyes Ignis felt like coiling into himself.

“We have been walking away from the venue, not towards it,” he noted, restlessness slithering in his stomach like a mating pit of snakes.

“How very astute of you,” Ardyn commended, and despite the dubious circumstance he found himself in, Ignis could not detect even a hint of threat in his voice. “I merely wish to talk, out of the earshot of bothersome gossips.”

He sat down on the bench. Under the halo of the street light, his hair took an almost red tinge from the usual deep burgundy. The shadows dancing on his face made him look older but no less dignified. The beauty of the man Ignis wished he could bed was food for the eels squirming into knots within him. The older man gestured to the seat next to him, inviting.

“I prefer to stand,” Ignis declined with a serrated edge to his voice, harsh and grating, when in truth he was terrified of getting closer to Ardyn.

“As expected,” the older man sighed, propping his elbows on his knees. It took him the length of a cricket’s chirp to compose his words into cohesive sentences.

“I do not understand you, Ignis,” he started, leaning his head into his large hands and dragging them through his hair. “You claim to not harbour animosity towards me, yet I have tried and tried again to talk to you tonight and you remain distant. For years you have avoided me. I deluded myself into thinking it was orderly, that a youngster such as yourself would shun the company of their older relatives. I can take it no longer. I can sense there is something you are not honest about, but I beg you to put your faith in me. Trust me to make no judgment against you, for what I fear the most is not your wrath.”

Ignis shivered when Ardyn lifted his gaze, eyes glistening in the soft light. He no longer attempted to mask his pain behind a poor semblance of a smile. He let the chest crushing desperation shine through. 

When he spoke, his voice broke into a whisper: “What I fear more than anything in this wretched world, is losing you, Ignis.”

A breath caught in Ignis’s throat. He watched as a proud man was reduced to begging, and something in him snapped. Rather than watch melancholy settle over Ardyn, he opted to wipe it off, no matter the cost.

Ignis marched in front of Ardyn, locking eyes with him. Bewilderment flashed in his lifted gaze before Ignis leaned in, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips on the older man’s. He expected to be pushed away. He expected to be scolded. He expected to be called a disappointment. He expected disgust, rage, horror.

He did not expect Ardyn to part his lips and transform what was supposed to be nothing but a one way street into a mutual act of affection, however brief. The kiss produced a wet sound upon breaking as Ignis pulled away, his lips atingle from the momentary contact. Greater than the overwhelming joy crashing within him was the shame bubbling in his gut, eroding his stomach. He turned away, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to stave off the inevitable reprimand he would certainly give himself if Ardyn did not get to it first.

“Ah, that would explain it,” the older man speculated, sounding more perplexed rather than angry. Ignis made a vague noise. “How foolish of me to encourage such an unorthodox display of fondness. The kind of relationship you wish to pursue is a violation against the most sacred of laws, not to mention it would be perceived as myself exerting my position of authority over you. Truly, a young man like yourself would do well to search for company of similar age, not pine for an old man.” He was no longer talking to Ignis. His words were directed to and received by the dirt below his feet.

“Might we continue our journey?” Ignis hissed, wallowing in the thriving guilt Ardyn’s monologue fertilised. “I do not wish to dwell on it.” 

He turned to continue onwards on the path but Ardyn snapped out of his catatonia to scamper towards him, pleading: “No, no, no, no, wait.” He wrapped his fingers around Ignis’s arm and held tight, preventing the young advisor from escaping. Ignis’s attempt to yank his arm away only resulted in a tighter hold, and another flush of embarrassment washed over him. He didn’t need to be explained akin to a child how wrong and irrational his emotions were. He was sufficiently equipped to handle that part himself. The thought of Ardyn sitting him down and spelling out why his immoral fantasies were an offense to the laws of nature angered Ignis.

“If I may ask, for how long?” Ardyn’s voice was charitable and hushed, recognising the frustration that boiled within the advisor and making an effort to smother it with kindness.

Ignis released a warm breath filled with aggravation, holding onto some of it like a precious pearl within his soul before replying: “I cannot remember a time when I didn’t feel this way about you.”

Ardyn pulled on his arm. Ignis resisted but the older man was unrelenting. Prepared to tell him off, Ignis turned to face him only to be stopped in his tracks by the smile on Ardyn’s face. This one was genuine, gentle and suggestive, and looked infuriatingly charming on the older man’s features. That smile was a lure and Ignis was a sight hound, a slave to his instinct to chase and capture. 

With slow, backwards steps the king’s brother guided him back to the bench and lowered himself on it. It took Ignis a moment to realise he was being coaxed into Ardyn’s lap. His breath turned superficial when his thighs caged Ardyn’s hips between them and the warmth of the older man’s body sent his mind swimming in unknown waters.

With heavy-lidded eyes and the terrifyingly alluring smirk a weapon that could kill Ignis on the spot, Ardyn pleaded: “Kiss me again, Ignis.”

The last of his life force left his body in a sharp exhale that yanked the string of his spirit right out of his chest with his heart ensnared with an invincible hook at the end of the string. Ardyn needed not ask twice. Bringing his body flush against Ardyn’s and entangling his fingers in with the stormy locks of his hair, the advisor pressed his lips on his the second time that evening. 

The nights he had spent alone in his apartment with nothing more than his imagination for company, he had imagined how Ardyn’s lips felt like. Would they be soft or dry, would he kiss with carefulness or with vigor, would he let another lead or take charge himself. Nothing could prepare him for the electrifying reality. Ardyn’s kiss was soft and inquisitive, comforting as much as it was encouraging. Ignis found himself closing his eyes, if only to stop them from rolling towards his skull when the older man brought his right hand around the back of Ignis’s neck, pressing his thumb and his fingers on opposite sides in a gesture of protective possessiveness. His stubble brushed against the sides of Ignis’s mouth and dragged an undignified moan out of him, which only spurred the older man to kiss him ever deeper. Ignis’s own fingers twisted Ardyn’s hair around them and tugged, urging his head backwards and persuading his mouth to open in a velvety gasp that gave Ignis an opening to assault his lips in an act of ferocity.

When finally his heaving lungs ran out of oxygen, Ignis broke the kiss. He trembled from excitement and arousal. Ardyn wouldn’t allow him to compose himself for long, enticing him into shorter but equally sweet caresses of lips between heavy breaths, the taste of him a mixture of red wine and liquid sin. Before he knew to stop himself, Ignis was rocking his hips against Ardyn, the lack of effort put into stopping him only turning him on further.

“What changed your mind?” he asked huskily as Ardyn dipped below his chin and left a trail of saliva from wet, ravenous kisses on his neck. The evening air cooled down the spots and raised his skin to gooseflesh. 

Ardyn hummed against his skin contemplatively, withdrew and locked eyes with him. “I have never been efficient at denying you a thing. Even when young you could plead so beautifully, with your glistening eyes and your polite, sweet voice. I would have fetched you the moon from the sky had you but asked.”

Ignis bit his lip and averted his eyes. A wide smile fought to crack through his bashful expression. Ardyn took delight in the display and nuzzled the side of Ignis’s face affectionately.

“Besides,” he continued, rubbing the back of Ignis’s neck with his rough fingertips, “it all works out in the end. I would have detested becoming a convicted murderer upon your first partner inevitably breaking your heart.”

“Was there ever a better reason to become one?”

“Ah, perceptive as ever. No, I suppose not. It is a reason as good as they come.”

Ignis chuckled. “Be mindful to not turn it into a suicide.”

“Don’t you worry,” Ardyn assured with a low rumble in his voice, borderlining an intimidating growl that sent a spark from Ignis’s spinal cord straight between his legs. “I will make sure to take good care of you, my little Ignis.”

Being pulled into yet another kiss, a slow but forceful one this time, was at the top of the list of magnificent ideas for Ignis. His eyes fluttered closed yet again as he let one of his palms trail down from Ardyn’s hair, to his chest, caressing his broad shoulder on the way. The muscle underneath the neat dress shirt was solid and smooth, resisting the press of his fingers. Tentatively, feigning an accidenta, his blunt nails brushed over the firm shape of Ardyn’s nipple, eliciting a sharp, sweet inhale that threatened to interrupt their kiss. Ignis smirked against the soft lips. 

Ever vengeful, Ardyn’s idle hand crept up on his knee, with each finger raking a path of igneous pleasure that led up to the joint between Ignis’s thigh and his hip. The older man’s thumb pressed against his inner thigh as he encouraged the advisor to rut against him. As Ignis had found out through multiple sources, submitting to Ardyn’s will was the most satisfying experience he could have. Ardyn manipulated his body expertly, knowing where to push and how hard to bring Ignis closer to the edge of sexual frustration. To further coax him to the brink of desperation, he allowed his wicked, clever tongue to explore the advisor’s sensitive mouth, caressing and licking over his. It was outright miraculous how effortlessly Ardyn could make his blood stream down into his cock. Ignis had never accepted defeat so willingly.

He exhausted one of his very few breaths to stutter: “Ardyn, I–”

“No need to fret, my dear. I know what you’re asking.” The older man purred and gave his bottom lip a playful tug. “But not here. I wish to offer you a more refined experience than this.”

Pushing the advisor back on his feet as courteously as the heat of the situation allowed, Ardyn stood up. Ignis allowed himself to be maneuvered, remaining close to his companion as they cooled off in the chill of the night. Warmth radiated off of Ardyn and kept Ignis’s senses on edge. He wanted to lean close, feel the older man’s broad shoulder against his cheek, run his hands on his well defined back, and suck in the scent of him. He wished to fill his lungs with the aroma to the point of drowning. 

Ignis understood their position in the eyes of the public. Both of them were recognisable figures to an average Insomnian and their roles in the court were known throughout the nation. Their actions were safer behind closed doors. 

Ardyn tucked his fingers underneath Ignis’s chin and lifted his face up for a parting kiss, short and tender. Silently they agreed to keep their physical contact to a minimum until they reached wherever it was Ardyn wanted to take him. Their walk from the park to a nearest street with decent traffic was filled with Ignis’s need to hold Ardyn’s hand and remind himself what was happening was truly real and not a fever dream he was going through under the effect of alcohol. His surroundings were hazy and his walk sluggish like drudging through a swamp. He was ready to raise hell if anyone, be it Gladio or the crown prince himself, dared to wake him up from the sweetest of illusions draping around him. His stomach was a nest of small mayflies, buzzing and fluttering with anticipation. The feeling of fresh spring clung to the loose bits of his clothes, his sleeves, his belt, his collar, even when a brisk breeze ruffled Ardyn’s hair mesmerizingly.

When a taxi stopped for them, Ardyn held the door open for him like a gentlemanly date would and Ignis crawled at the opposite end of the back seat. He propped his elbow up on the window and leaned his face in his hand. It had only been a few minutes since the park and already Ignis was yearning. In the light of the city, passing street lamps illuminating the older man’s face, Ardyn looked divine with his mellow smile curving his lips and Ignis wanted to reach out and touch. Instead he swallowed and laid his hand on the leather surface of the seat, scratching the squeaky material in frustration. He was glad Ardyn handled the small talk with the driver since he was incapable of higher brain functions. 

During the ride that felt less like an eternity and more like time had simply resigned, he would do what he used to do as a child, sitting in the back seat of Regalia with the King and Noctis, and count how many left and how many right turns the car made. He remembered the fruity mental exercises he used to do, imagining an unknown party abruptly overtaking the car and forcing them to a foreign location with the only saving grace being Ignis’s capability of remembering every single turn the car had made on the way. With that knowledge, he had been certain he could save them from the abduction. He could finally freely admit that within the confinements of the exercises, he had called Ardyn instead of the emergency facilities and imagined him coming to the rescue. A faint blush climbed atop his cheekbones.

The journey down to the memory lane was interrupted as he felt a touch to the side of his fingers. Looking down, Ardyn had placed his hand next to his, ensuring their skin made contact. The gesture looked almost accidental, if it wasn’t for the widened smile on his face. Ignis’s heart jumped. The older man’s ability to sense his frustration and offer consolation, no matter how small and insignificant it seemed, reminded Ignis why he had pined for the man for the better part of his life. 


	5. The Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flower finally bursts into full bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, ladies and gentlemen. The final chapter. This is what the tags warned of. This is basically just 8k of nothing but porn. It's explicit. Mind your step.

Their destination was the front of a modern high-rise building with sparkling windows and an expensive, fragile feel to it. Ignis knew he wasn’t supposed to feel out of place as the advisor to the future king of Insomnia, but somehow the gloss and varnish of the exterior made him feel inconsequential. Ardyn, however, no matter how rough around the edges, no matter how his casual mannerism rubbed the court the wrong way, belonged. With an inviting glance thrown at Ignis, he strode through the main doors, greeted the man at the front, and led them to the elevators. Ignis had only enough time to give yet another cordial nod towards the man who must have been maintenance to keep up with Ardyn. He followed like a street cur at the promise of food and refused to complain about the impatience the older man was exhibiting. 

In the lift, with just the two of them, the ugly beast of need rose in Ignis’s stomach.

“Ardyn,” he called. He didn’t mean to sound so pleading, but no matter how hard he sucked the air into his lungs, he failed to inhale the whimper of his yearning back into his lungs.

“There is a camera installed in this very elevator. The man at the front desk has a clear view of us.” He explained, without a shred of hesitancy in his voice. 

He turned towards Ignis, who looked back, fingers clutching at the front of his own shirt, shivering, chest heaving like standing still was considerably heavy labour.

The older man’s features melted into an empathetic smile before he continued: “Quickly, then.”

The Crownsguard instructors would have given him a pat on the back had they witnessed his reaction speed to Ardyn’s words. Ignis’s hand left his shirt only to grab the collar of Ardyn’s, pulling him eagerly against him and deliberately trapping himself between the mirror glass and the taller man, capturing the tantalisingly soft lips with his own. Ardyn obliged to the arrangement, humming against the kiss while returning it in earnest. His arms leaned against the mirror on both sides of Ignis’s head, caging him in and offering a sensation of both security and danger. His thigh pressed against the front of Ignis’s trousers, making the younger man gasp from the friction. Ignis wished there had been an acceleration button on the lift. He would’ve kicked it in.

As if he could anticipate the doors opening, Ardyn peeled himself off the greedy advisor just in time for the cheerful  _ ping _ . Ignis cursed in his head, looking for the composure he seemed to have lost somewhere along the way. It had run for the hills, waving in delighted farewell, and left Ignis to struggle in futile efforts to leash the aching lust spilling over the edges of his mind. How could he put a collar on something that behaved like a liquid, the steel bars of his determination naught but obstacles, not confinements. He walked behind Ardyn, feeling like a newborn fawn on a thin layer of ice, careful and altogether hopeless.

The walk to the appropriate door, Ardyn using a key to open it and stepping into the apartment all dissolved into a porridge of events, a big stew of actions Ignis couldn’t distinguish from each other, but when he stood at the glory of Ardyn’s very own place, he wanted to become one with it. He wanted to belong here just as much as Ardyn did. 

It was a spacious, contemporary penthouse with large windows. The main living space consisted of a kitchen islet and living room combination, creating an open, inviting feeling. Somehow Ignis was certain somebody had hired a decorator to bring the atmosphere together, since he couldn’t imagine Ardyn spending hours on feng shui. Monochromatic colours dominated the space, with a selected few splashes of colour dotting the landscape, favouring muted reds and purples. All in all, it was a place well suited for The King’s brother, and Ignis was impressed, if not desperate to mess up the harmony but a smidge with his own presence. In the middle of taking in the beauty of the accommodation, his eyes spotted workout equipment stashed away in a corner and his stomach did a funny turn.

Following Ardyn’s example, he left his shoes by the door. Diverting from Ardyn’s example, he did it neatly, placing each one of his dress shoes against the wall to keep them out of the way where the older man had simply stepped out of his heavy boots and kicked them off willy nilly. Ignis resisted the need to clean up after him like he did with Noctis. Ardyn was an adult. Ardyn owned the place. Ardyn could leave whatever he wanted lying wherever he wanted. 

The older man turned around theatrically with his arms spread in a presentation.

“Welcome to Castle Lucis Caelum, the better one out of the two,” he welcomed, bowing deep. 

“It’s rather remarkable,” Ignis admitted. “How come you’ve never invited me over?”

“Why, bringing an adolescent boy to my gentlemanly abode would have been peculiar,” Ardyn replied with a smirk. “But if it is any consolation, I am glad to have you here today.”

Tentatively, Ignis stepped closer, still channeling that nervous yearling within him that managed to clear the dangers of a well lit corridor. As Ardyn slid his jacket off his shoulders and tossed it over the backrest of the couch, Ignis allowed his fingers to reach, to find purchase on the front of the older man’s shirt, his blunt fingernails catching on the luxurious, tailor made fabric. They journeyed up, on the black tie Ardyn had haphazardly draped around his neck, for the fancy occasion of Noctis’s birthday, and pulled it loose until it came apart, coiling at their feet like a charmed snake. Ardyn’s eyes followed him with gentle curiosity, endorsing the initiative Ignis took without interference. 

With unrelenting impatience, Ignis’s hands assaulted Ardyn’s vest, popping each one of the buttons open with meticulous confidence. With the vest gone, the overall composition of his outfit became more casual and carefree, but Ignis missed the way the form fitting, thick fabric hugged the older man’s narrow waist. He concluded there was only one way of amending the issue without adding more clothes on Ardyn. 

Suddenly Ignis’s throat felt like he had swallowed a glassful of sand. His hands were known to be steady. He could write the same word over and over again with ink and have each word look like the carbon copy of the one before. He could wield his daggers with daunting precision and he never, ever spilled his coffee. At the face of unbuttoning Ardyn’s shirt, the last layer of stately cotton between Ignis and the older man’s bare skin, his fingers trembled, hesitated and locked in position like his hands had suddenly forgotten joints existed. 

When the first button came undone, Ignis wanted to grip the collar and slide onto the floor, taking Ardyn with him. The second button revealed more of Ardyn’s strong neck and made Ignis squeeze his eyes shut for a second to avoid whining. The more buttons Ignis undid, the glassier his eyes became, unable to process and react to the skin he was slowly stripping, until he was at the waistband of Ardyn’s straight trousers. 

He looked at the mess he had left behind. Ardyn was a degenerate deity, with his shirt open and revealing a sliver of creamy skin. The desert forming in Ignis’s throat experienced a rainy season, pooling saliva at the back of his tongue. With an inward, beastial growl he tugged the shirt out of the trousers, watching in awe as Ardyn shed it at unspoken command.

In that instant Ignis knew why Ardyn had workout equipment. He had always suspected the man lifted more than glasses of wine, ever since the night he picked up younger Ignis so effortlessly off the ground that Ignis could’ve sworn he was nothing but a pillowcase full of feathers. He was right. 

Ardyn basked in the speechless condition he left Ignis in, content to stand on display for his young paramour. Ignis’s fingers traced the veins on his arms with a footloose touch, shivering when Ardyn graced him with sharp inhales and low, melodic hums. Reaching his chest, the advisor tapped the flawless skin with his fingertips, indecisive, until Ardyn granted him the push he needed by stepping forth. His palms flush against Ardyn’s pectorals, Ignis’s breathing picked up the familiar pace of a long distance runner, leaving his body in puffs. 

As his hands traced the shapes of Ardyn’s muscles, the older man leaned in, pressing soft kisses alongside the side of his neck. Ignis’s lips parted as he barely stifled another moan, the brush of Ardyn’s stubble in contrast with the velvet softness of his lips turning the fog machine on inside Ignis’s brain. His mouth traveled from his neck to his jawline and on his cheek, and eventually Ardyn engaged in yet another, heated kiss with him, fuelled with Ignis’s need to caress him with every fibre of his body. At the end of it, Ardyn purred a satisfied note, bringing his mouth close to Ignis’s ear and sending a series of quivers carousing through his nervous system.

With a low, hoarse voice, he urged the younger man: “Wrap your arms around my neck, my little advisor.”

Ignis did as he was asked, feeling the strength behind the older man’s shoulders on his way. As Ardyn bent down, Ignis’s heart stopped at the expectation of the forthcoming event. Not a single beat was spared when one of Ardyn’s strong arms encircled his middle and another one found a firm hold on his rear. He didn’t dare to draw breath until Ardyn hoisted him up on his waist. As if by muscle memory, Ignis wrapped his long legs behind the older man’s back, alleviating weight he would have to support with his arms. It was only then his body resumed normal functions associated with a living organism, and they all rushed in at once to fill in the space left empty by foreboding. Up in Ardyn’s arms, he was gasping for air and his heart banged against the cage of his ribs like a false convict. 

“I didn’t think you could still—”

“Pick you up?” Ardyn completed his sentence, the hand holding him up from his behind massaging the muscle in slow circles, pulling rough, stifled sighs from him. “Not as easily, mind you. Not quite as light as you used to be.”

Ignis chuckled, ducking his face underneath Ardyn’s chin to kiss and suck on the sensitive flesh on his neck as he was carried off to what he presumed to be the bedroom. When he glanced around, it was similarly decorated as the rest of the apartment, monochrome and minimalistic, but the bed sported wine red covers and looked inviting. He almost wished Ardyn had tossed him on it, to try out the buoyancy of the mattress himself, but instead the older man spun around and sat at the edge of the bed, allowing Ignis to remain in his lap as long as he wished. 

Resting against Ardyn’s chest had a way of resurfacing old memories, some mixed in with a hearty measure of bitterness. They were images of The King’s scowl when he had seen Ardyn embracing him, visions of the fights the two used to have over Ignis. They never fought otherwise. In fact, Ardyn stayed out of his brother’s way if he could, but something about Ignis always managed to awaken the defiance in him, the need for an upfront confrontation. Once more, Ignis sighed against Ardyn’s neck. He had always been so protective of Ignis.

Underneath the layer of sourness lay an entire pool of pleasant memories, most relating to the innocent infatuation he had felt for the older man early on. The butterflies he had felt in his stomach when Ardyn so much as smiled at him. The blush that had crept on his cheeks stealthily, until the burn he had felt against his skull revealed his rampant emotions. 

Untangling his legs from Ardyn’s midsection, Ignis seized the opportunity to slide between the older man’s legs and onto the floor before he could get it in his head to tip Ignis onto the bed like a dainty lady. From his vantage point he could make out each and every curve of Ardyn’s physique, every hill of his perfectly toned muscles and every valley between them. Ignis never liked to admit it, but deep within the humble, reticent crust of properness, lay a heart filled with avarice to turn dreams into reality, starved and neglected. The weak beast only ever reared his head when near Ardyn, like the scent of the older man could reawaken a repressed need for a moonlit hunt. It always hungered for more. A moment, a few hours, an evening, a day with Ardyn was never enough. A brush of his gentle hand across Ignis’s face was never sufficient to sate his need for more. 

Long fingers draped around Ardyn’s ankles and wandered upwards, hiking the fabric up for a short bit of the journey. Ignis felt the contour of his calves and his knees before running his digits over the robust thighs on each side of his body. Ardyn watched with interest, an enticing smile on his lips, leaning back on his hands to allow Ignis full access to the playground of his body. His breaths came out heavy, a quiet respite of an interlude before the raising tempo of the second act.

With trembling digits, Ignis undid Ardyn’s belt and his zipper, the bulge straining the garment underneath, causing him to drool. A single, hard swallow later he pressed his lips against the hardness, mouthing over the underwear and feeling his own cock jump every time the member twitched against his lips. He lifted his gaze upon Ardyn’s face just as the older man placed his hand in Ignis’s hair, stroking encouragingly. 

“Have you done this before?” he asked and for the first time Ignis heard an edge in his voice. 

“I cannot claim I have,” Ignis answered, offering a modest smile. He was entirely too impatient to play games with Ardyn, opting instead to stroke his shaft through the fabric a few times, watching with reverence as a wet spot formed near the waistband.

“A brief crash course on how to pleasure a man is in order then. You’ll want to— ah!” 

With a seductive hum, Ignis released the object of his insatiable hunger from its prison, wasting no time to lick off the bead of precome at the tip and end the voracious lap in a soft kiss. As the salty bitterness of the viscous fluid spread on his tongue, his eyes flickered back on Ardyn’s, narrowing at the sight of the older man’s stunned expression. 

“Please, do carry on,” the advisor purred, dragging his lips across the length of Ardyn’s cock, all the way from the tip to the very base, following the most prominent vein on the underside of it. 

“Teeth,” Ardyn sibilated, uncharacteristically concise, “avoid them.”

It was never a discussion of opinion whether Ignis was experienced or not. Frankly, he wasn’t. He was faintly aware of people attracted to him, aware but not particularly intrigued. His single tracked mind never allowed anyone closer than first base. Strangely, he never had the indispensable imagination to replace people with the thought of Ardyn when he failed to feel the electricity in their fumbling attempts at kisses. Yet he held an abundance of it when projecting visions of pleasing the older man sexually to the canvas inside his eyelids. 

With a long drag of his tongue, Ignis licked a trail dripping in saliva from the base of Ardyn’s pulsing member to the very end, enveloping the tip within the bounds of his mouth. He sucked on the head gently, drawing out sighs and quiet vowels out of the older man insisting on caressing him through the experience, running his hands from Ignis’s hair down to his shoulders in erratic motions. No doubt he was affected by Ignis flicking his tongue over the slit. 

“You are a natural at this, my dear boy.”

Ardyn’s breathy commendations made Ignis squeeze his thighs together in hopes of staving off the evident arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach. He met the older man’s darkened eyes over the frames of his glasses as he opened his mouth, straining his jaw as the length slid further down his throat. He willed his gag reflex nonexistent when the tip hit the back of his mouth and regretted their chosen setup, for try as he might he could never fit it in his mouth all the way down to the hilt. Had he chosen a different position, where the curve of Ardyn’s erection followed the natural incline of his throat, he could have at least attempted despite the older man having been graced with ample size.

The notion seemed to not cross Ardyn’s mind, since the gentle circles he drew on Ignis’s skin with his fingers ended in unintended scratches. His hand followed the sharp trajectory of Ignis’s jawline, stopping on his chin and pressing a thumb against the side of the advisor’s mouth, feeling how full to the brim he was.

To help him in his endeavour, Ignis brought his right hand to wrap around the base of Ardyn’s cock, stroking him for the length he couldn’t fit in his mouth. Thick, salty droplets coated his tongue every time he pulled back to grace the silky surface of the head with the avaricious roll of his tongue. The hand on his jaw guided him without force, a gentle swipe of a thumb caressing his cheek. His mind swimming in the warm waters of lust, Ignis’s touched himself over the fabric of his trousers, straight, black and near identical to Ardyn’s. The more precome the older man leaked into his mouth, the more Ignis wished for his completion, hollowing his cheeks to suck with tenderness.

Ardyn’s efforts in keeping himself steady and still proved ineffective against Ignis’s eager mouth, and before he knew it he was bucking against the sweet warmth, eliciting suffocated moans from the advisor. Ignis flattened his tongue under Ardyn’s pulsing cock, allowing for a smooth, slick entry. He could feel how every heartbeat trickled another bead of pearly fluid down his throat and Ardyn’s pulse was getting faster. 

Out of the blue, Ardyn’s fingers encircled his throat, and the weight of his delicious member withdrew from Ignis’s mouth, the grip around his neck ensuring Ignis could not chase after it. With confusion and disappointment he looked at Ardyn, only to find his adverse emotions melting into an unrecognisable puddle, streaming away when the older man greeted him with a smile. His lips glistened from the condensed moisture from rapid huffs of breath.

“Forgive me if I startled you,” the older man hushed gently, bending down to kiss Ignis apologetically while rubbing his throat without the least bit of force behind the motion. “I wasn’t prepared to be brought so close to completion in such a short time.”

It slowly dawned on Ignis what Ardyn had done: holding him from the neck to still his movement would have looked intimidating to an outsider, yet it was only Ardyn’s reaction that introduced the concept to Ignis. Had Ardyn stayed quiet, had he only clarified that it was to stop the advisor from making him come, the thought wouldn’t have crossed his mind. He let his lips be captured in another kiss, let himself be drawn into a loving embrace. He knew Ardyn would never harm him on purpose. His trust in the man that had protected him all these years was unrelenting.

“I fear our positions are uneven,” Ardyn accused once the kiss was broken, still hovering over Ignis’s mouth to tease him with the tempting softness of his lips. “I have exposed everything to you, yet you remain clothed. I’m afraid such injustice must be rectified.”

Ignis huffed a low laughter, leaning back on his heels and pushing himself up on his legs. 

“Then allow me to amend the situation,” he offered, earning a sharp smack on his rear from exuberant Ardyn. The sting of the slap did nothing to curb the bolt of electricity wrecking his body and turned his legs into badly solidified jelly. 

More pithy with his own clothing, Ignis unbuttoned his vest and his dress shirt and tossed them onto the floor. His trousers experienced a similar fate, pooling at his feet and getting kicked off with socks in tow. Thumbs hooked under the waistband of his form fitting, black boxers Ignis considered the possibility of the older man craving a show he had not provided. He turned his side to Ardyn, smirking through his bashful expression, and slowly slid the undergarments down from the back, keeping his twitching manhood covered but highlighting the curve of his buttocks with the strained, dark fabric. Over his shoulder he glanced at Ardyn seductively, catching a glimpse of the older man leaning back and stroking himself to the sight, with the kind of grin a wolf would wear upon discovering the shepherd had gone and left the flock unattended plastered on his face.

“Oh, you’re such a tease,” he growled, pulling the foreskin over the head of his shaft tantalisingly slowly. Beads of precome streamed down his length, one after the other, rousing hunger in Ignis and the wish to lick off every last drop, to not let them go to waste.

After showcasing all of the goods on offer, Ignis pulled the boxers down to his ankles, bending down to give Ardyn a plentiful view of his backside. Another rough grunt from his paramour made Ignis’s cock jump in anticipation, and Ardyn was driven to not come second. He kicked his trousers off, scrambling backwards on the bed to prop himself against the plush pillows as Ignis descended at the end of the mattress, crawling down on all fours like a feline hunter, disposing of his glasses along the way by depositing them on a small nightstand the right side of Ardyn’s bed. Unquestionably, he had a bit of near-sightedness to him, but he was convinced he would not spend time so far from the older man that he couldn’t make out his transcendent features.

He slithered all the way across the soft covers onto Ardyn’s lap, where he was promptly rewarded with an assault of ravenous kisses on his chest. What clever tricks Ardyn’s tongue knew, guiding itself down to one of Ignis’s perky nipples, flicking it with enthusiasm. His left hand, armed with rough but talented fingers, found the other one, rubbing it and tugging at it gently. Ignis didn’t need to look down to know he was leaking profusely, but he did regardless, only to witness his and Ardyn’s cocks nestled in together, their fluids mixing with each others. It was poetic, if the poems one happened to enjoy were the raunchy ones.

Blindly, Ardyn’s free hand fumbled through his nightstand drawer looking for something. After a moment of rummaging, it produced a small bottle and a metallic wrap. Ignis might’ve been a virgin, but he wasn’t a moron. He knew the purpose of both items. The small packaging was left on the nightstand for easy access. The bottle was put into appropriate use as Ardyn opened the cap with a dull click and poured clear, gelatinous substance over his right hand. The bottle, he set beside them and Ignis shuddered thinking about the intent it would be needed for in the near future.

Craftily, Ardyn slid his slicked hand underneath him, brushing past his testicles and pressing against the soft bud of his entrance. Ignis sucked in a sharp breath, wrapping his arms around Ardyn’s broad shoulders and leaning the whole of his weight on him trying to stay upright when his thighs trembled like during vigorous training in Crownsguard. He buried his face in the older man’s trapezius, determined to muffle any tawdry noises with a mouthful of fragrant flesh.

Fingers tapped at the tight ring, pressing down tentatively before resigning to massaging his entrance. It dragged sighs and sharp inhales from Ignis and turned his body hot and deprived. He opened his mouth to beg, but the words as well as his breath abandoned him as he felt a single digit pushed past the tightness and into the heat. Ardyn was careful, teasing his finger in and out only up to the first knuckle. However, Ignis was greedy, pushing himself back against his hand, tempting him further in. With a grin Ignis felt against his neck, Ardyn complied. 

With an overall playful tone, but something dark and sinister giving the words a splash of colour, Ardyn asked: “Am I wrong to assume you are familiar with this?”

“Enough to know what feels good,” Ignis responded, his words chopped up into tiny syllables and mixed in with quiet whimpers.

“Instruct me.”

Ignis’s brain turned into a maelstrom of physical and mental arousal, thoughts breaking down to incoherence just like his speech.

Hesitant, a pause delaying his words, he requested: “Add another finger.”

With surprising dedication to following commands Ardyn pulled the first digit out, smoothing over the sensitive bud before breaching it with an additional finger, making Ignis moan. The burn of the stretch was both familiar and foreign at the same time and Ardyn’s hands were much larger than his own. 

A shiver ran through his body, as the older man set a steady rhythm to open him up. It was slow, considerate, careful, and not enough to provide Ignis with the satisfaction he was chasing. 

“Curl them down,” Ignis ordered, or perhaps begged, out of breath and out of his element but remarkably comfortable with his newfound authoritarian position. He didn’t need to think twice whether he believed Ardyn knew how to draw shameless mewls out of his lovers autonomously. The way his cock throbbed against Ignis’s was a giveaway to his brazen indulgence in allowing Ignis to wield him like a tool for his own satisfaction.

Ardyn’s mouth captured his own in a tactical pursuit to swallow the yelp that rose from the depths of Ignis’s core as the wildling of a man complied with his request, dragging the tips of his fingers over Ignis’s prostate. Every steadfast press on the sweet spot pushed a hefty lot of precome out of him. Ignis’s cry broke into sobs that cut short the affectionate kiss between them. 

To offer counterbalance, Ardyn’s free hand slipped between them, and deft, long fingers wrapped around both of their lengths, tugging in tandem with the zealous strokes in and out of the advisor. Only a handful of unhurried caresses beckoned the delicious wave of impending orgasm forward, bit by bit, forcing Ignis to use all his concentration to fend it off.

“Was I ever on your mind when you touched yourself?” Ardyn asked close to his ear, aggravatingly adept at breaking Ignis’s focus by chipping small cracks to it with his voice and chosen words.

“Without exception,” the advisor replied, fragile words twisting into vows, “I imagined your hands instead of mine, stroking me to completion. When I buried my fingers deep into myself, I dreamt of you claiming me.”

Ignis let out a low chuckle, breathy and unstable.

“I could, on occasion, be rather ferocious with myself,” he added, brandishing a smile with an edge of coyness.

Ardyn’s eyes flashed with scorching heat and he pressed his mouth on Ignis’s shoulder, biting into it. The sensation started Ignis, but the notion of wearing a bruise from a nip of passion for days to come set his heart at ease. It aroused only a burst of heat in his groin; a reminder for Ignis to keep the thrill under watchful eye lest it crept on him and caught him off guard.

“Mercy, Ignis,” Ardyn growled, adding a third finger to pry Ignis’s entrance loose. “Mercy for this poor old man’s heart.”

Before Ignis could causticly ask whether Ardyn had ever graced him with said mercy, the older man was thrusting his digits in and out of the younger man with brute force, carving his insides with clever twists of his fingers. Unable to curb his urges, Ignis drove himself on Ardyn’s hand, filling the room with hoarse groans. His back curved forward to chase a repetitive brush on his prostate while his and Ardyn’s cocks dripped fluids along their respective lengths. The precome provided ample lubrication for Ardyn’s efforts to jerk them both off, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over their heads.

“I could take you to the stars like this,” he promised Ignis in between mouthing sloppy kisses alongside his jugular. “If you wanted me to.”

His nails digging into the flesh of Ardyn’s shoulders, Ignis bit his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. Anything to turn the tide of impending completion. When he blinked, behind his lids he could see shooting stars heading for the crust of the earth. From the heat of the meteors raining inside him, rose a sensation, coiling into itself slowly, becoming taut. Ignis held the ends and kept it from unfurling. Every tug at his foreskin pulled over the aching, swollen bulb of his cock, every harsh caress over his stimulated prostate, turned his hands holding the ends weaker and irresolute.

“No, please,” the younger man begged, his sex-addeled brain stirring the letters like alphabet soup. “I have — ah, have — have plans.”

In kindred spirits, words mangled by crude groans, Ardyn slowed the hand that stroked them, easing the pace to merely tantalizing and taming the wave of their joint orgasm into docile, domesticated shivers of pleasure before enquiring: “Oh? Should I be made aware of said plans?”

Relaxing significantly when he no longer had to pinch his eyes and mind closed to keep his wits about him, Ignis mellowed into deep sighs that resonated from his diaphragm as Ardyn’s slick fingers tirelessly worked him open. A quick, near absent-minded, accidental brush over the sensitive nub inside him still sent a bolt of electricity crashing through him, igniting from his groin and spreading as a wildfire across his torso. He huffed a laugh at Ardyn’s question, synchronised with the sweet note of delight.

“Perhaps you should,” he conceded, draping himself around Ardyn’s athletic shoulders and mouthing his way up from the older man’s neck up to his ear. “I wish to rest my back against you while you take me with ardency.”

“That can be arranged,” Ardyn assured in a gravelly purr. He pulled his fingers out of the advisor at a glacial pace, ensuring an appropriate lack of discomfort. Once half of his hand was no longer caged within the tight, velvety prison of the younger man’s ass, he smoothed the digits over the entrance, rubbing in a caring fashion and drawing melodic hums out of Ignis.

With care and kindness like handling a priced antique, he guided the advisor to turn over. Ardyn tucked his legs underneath himself for leverage, and juggled between keeping the impatient advisor from impaling himself on his cock straight out of the door, and preparing himself. Pressed for patience, Ardyn grabbled for the condom he had left on the nightstand, tore the shiny packaging open with enough impetuous, unforbearing force behind it to almost send the precious protection flying across the room. Leaning on his arms, Ignis mused if Ardyn would’ve dived for it had it made a prize winning trajectory to the nearest wall, or if the older man would have waived the effort, opting to take him raw. He almost wished for the latter.

Once the condom was on, Ignis found himself jittery, itching to do something, anything, to fill the emptiness left by Ardyn’s withdrawn fingers. He ground himself against the older man’s cock like a beast in heat, disregarding any shame over the display of depravity, concentrating in feeling the weight and smoothness of the length gliding along the lubricated cleft of his buttocks as Ardyn poured more of the lukewarm, viscous solution over himself. In the process of establishing a smooth entry, the waterfall of lube washed over Ignis’s entrance, dripping down on the backs of his thighs. A shudder climbed over each of his vertebrae upwards with agonizing sluggishness until it raised the hair at the back of his neck.

The hands on his hips made Ignis feel slight with the way the fingers fanned over his hip bones while the thumbs spread him on display, exposing his yearning, pink bud of an opening. He felt vulnerable, fragile, not just because Ardyn watched with unbroken intrigue how his entrance accommodated him as he gradually guided Ignis back and downwards. Ardyn was delicate, gentle beyond necessary, and Ignis welcomed the feeling of defenselessness at the hands of his most beloved man. He was willing to give up his independence if the tradeoff was Ardyn maneuvering him with all the affection he had demonstrated that evening.

A sharp, serrated breath caught in Ignis’s throat upon feeling the head of Ardyn’s cock slipping past the tight ring of muscle, effortless, yet no less invasive. He pushed back desperate to feel the full length fill him up to the brim, claim him, surrender all of his senses to Ardyn. The hands on his hips stopped him, held him steady. The gasp in his windpipe turned into an edged hiccup that grated his larynx as Ardyn withdrew from him, a low noise of contentment erupting from him despite his superficial breathing.

Ignis was allowed to sink back down, but only enough to once more seat the bulb of Ardyn’s cock within his flesh. The older man’s pulse throbbed through his manhood, and Ignis cried in frustration.

“Ah-ah, patience, I implore you,” Ardyn chastised playfully, pulling out and dragging the tip across Ignis’s entrance before pushing in yet again. “Did you think I would let your little show from earlier slide? Flaunting your beautiful backside to me like that, why, it deserves a fitting punishment.”

His voice, a threatening, promising whisper, shot straight between Ignis’s legs, giving his cock a jump start. Ardyn was stronger than him and Ignis lacked willpower to fight him head on. Although he still attempted to push down every time Ardyn stretched his opening with the bulb of his cock, it was to no avail. Being repeatedly breached without fulfillment was turning Ignis’s brain into boiling stew.

“But my, you are  _ exquisitely _ tight, my little Ignis,” the older man purred, keeping a steady, agonizing rhythm that brought Ignis inch by inch closer to madness. “I sincerely doubt you can take the rest of me.”

At the older man’s tempting words, his patience ran out. Throwing his head back, Ignis looked over his shoulder with overbearing frustration blazing in his eyes, and growled: “Ardyn.” It was a warning, nothing less.

Ardyn chuckled impishly, but his grip of Ignis’s hips softened. He granted the ungratified advisor a half of an inch further down on his length and a sharp gasp rang through the room.

“Easy now, my dear. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Beyond heeding any council, Ignis took advantage of the give Ardyn was permitting, spearing himself on his thick, pulsing member effortlessly. The wildling of a man still held his hips, but only enough to slow his progress rather than stall it. Once the man had carved a path through him, Ignis deflated his lungs from the breath he had been holding only to have it end in a scream when his lover seated himself inside all the way to the hilt by snapping his hips against Ignis’s backside with force. Underneath him, the advisor’s arms nearly gave up the good fight, shaking as his hands fisted the luxurious, wine red sheets.

Every throb of Ardyn’s abundantly endowed cock Ignis felt inside him. As if their heartbeats were in sync, his own length twitched and leaked at every pulse. While the copious amount of lubricant had made the entry smooth, the burn of something so large inside him set Ignis’s nerve endings on fire. He needed a moment to collect himself, terrified to move one way or another, lest he experienced another flare of debilitating heat. Ardyn waited for him patiently, smoothing his hands over Ignis’s body in a gentle display of affection. His fingers ran from the muscles on Ignis’s lower back up to his shoulders, massaging them before carding his fingers through the short strands of hair at the back of his neck. 

When Ignis had gathered all of his thoughts into one place by haphazardly stringing them together, knowing full well any sort of sudden movement would snap the feeble cord of his mental fortitude and set them loose once more, he pushed himself off of his arms, falling back against Ardyn’s chest. The motion slid Ardyn ever deeper, a wail of pleasure erupting from Ignis with stars dancing behind his eyelids, but the comfort of closeness with the older man overshadowed the heavy weight resting against his prostate.

Ardyn’s hands crawled around from behind him, one setting itself once more on his hip to guide and control him, and the other one wrapping around his torso, finding his nipple on the other side and giving it a tender tug. The sharp, sudden flash of pleasure gave Ignis the incentive to lift his hips and impale himself on Ardyn’s cock once more, until the much more prominent probing at his prostate compared to the older man’s fingers had him bouncing on Ardyn’s lap in a continuous cadence. His sighs and Ardyn’s sinful groans harmonized with the tempo. For a twinkling, his hands looked for appropriate placings, until one circled back into Ardyn’s hair. It coaxed the older man to mouth the flesh of his shoulders, and the other one clawed at Ardyn’s hand rubbing and twisting the dusky rosebud on his chest. His blunt nails digging into the knuckles of the older man communicated the jolts of pleasure that thrummed at the cords of his body by leaving scratch marks on the back of Ardyn’s hand.

His words chopped up by the keen blade of lust, Ardyn queried: “Why was this your choice of position?”

Ignis admitted he hadn’t thought it through properly. Their arrangement was on the awkward side, prohibiting the extreme movements Ignis desperately wanted to perform to sculpt the inside of his ass into sheltering Ardyn’s cock, and his alone. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, distracted by the endless, heavy-handed drag over his prostate, “safety in nostalgia. I remember resting my back against you like this when I was but a youngling. When you read to me, I felt secure. I loved you for it.”

Suddenly, the grip on his hip tightened and Ardyn halted his movements, drawing their bodies against each other, feverish skin touching another.

“Loved?” he echoed, a solemn note playing on the staves of his voice.

Ignis laughed, leaning his head back to rest on Ardyn’s shoulder. “No, my statement was inaccurate,” he responded, his smile filled with adoration for the older man, his wild animal of a lover. “I love you, Ardyn.  _ Still _ love you.”

The hand that held his hips gripped tighter and stilled him, the rough fingers pressing into the bone through a thin layer of skin. It would bruise. Ignis wanted it to bruise. Every blemish, every scratch, every bite mark was a reminder that Ardyn had claimed him that night. The more of them, the better, so Ignis could look at himself in the mirror and remember in awe how he belonged. In Ardyn’s arms, on top of him, around him. The other hand abandoned his chest, rising to hold his jaw still as the older man craned to capture his lips in a ravenous kiss, inquisitive tongue rolling over his, exploring his mouth, making him moan against the soft mouth. Teeth tugged at his lips and Ardyn released a primal growl, the perfect embodiment of his need to ravage Ignis beyond recognition.

When they pulled apart, a glistening pearl necklace of saliva connected their lips together briefly before Ardyn licked it away and declared: “If I may, I would like to turn you around.”

A nod of affirmation later, Ignis lifted himself off of the older man. The loss of the length inside him made him whine in disappointment, but Ardyn was quick to soothe him. Instead of permitting the advisor to climb back on his lap, the older man rose on his knees and kissed Ignis yet again, lighter this time, using the gentle brush of his lips as a distraction for him to push Ignis back with the weight of his body, until the younger man was supine on his back.

Squeezing his eyes shut as a flashback of his dreams blinded him, Ignis revelled in the memory of imagining Ardyn on top of him, his firm body wedged between his trembling thighs, his hot mouth like a predator breathing down on defenceless prey ghosting over Ignis face and his neck. He remembered how the visions had made him embarrassed, ashamed for wanting the man that had played an important role in the stage play of his upbringing so desperately. He had spent many a times in his boxers fantasizing about Ardyn climbing atop of him, pinning him down, spreading his thighs apart like a butterfly on a canvas with his narrow hips, the weight of his cock the pin to affix him into place. 

Yet there it was, the dream of a dream playing right before his eyes. Ardyn kissed him with blazing passion, scalding his mouth with starved kisses that stole Ignis’s breath away, one after the other, leaving behind hollowed lungs. He aligned his hips with Ignis’s, positioned himself at his entrance and pushed back in with one, smooth motion that pushed the remnants of oxygen through Ignis’s nose, his wail suffocated by the edacious kiss blessed to him.

Once comfortably seated, the older man licked his lips as a parting gift, straightened up to lean on his heels and lifted Ignis’s legs on his shoulders, What Ignis thought had been the full length of him still had an inch left, and with a mischievous, lopsided smirk the older man drove it home, slamming his hips flush against Ignis’s backside. The advisor yelped, finally feeling the full effect of Ardyn’s cock hollowing him out, leaving no room for doubt, shame or guilt. His mind turned blank, into a shocking white canvas, where each drawn-out thrust was a splatter of wild, vibrant colour. 

Large hands settled on his hips, thumbs pressing into the valleys below the frames of his bones. They tugged him against the momentum and abolished any need for Ignis to move on his own, and the wistful suggestion that his body was used for Ardyn’s pleasure without his input set a sea of liquid fire within the pit of his stomach in motion.

When one of the hands slid past his lower stomach and brushed over his aching length, Ignis cried again, arching his back to the touch. At first it was nothing more than a featherlight caress, spreading precome dripping from the slit along the shaft, but before he was prepared for it, adroit fingers wrapped around his cock, teasing the foreskin over the head excruciatingly slowly. The older man let the ardent thrusts push Ignis into his hand while he merely exerted pressure in the right spots, soft fingertips smoothing over the bulb and the frenulum. 

It didn’t take long for the threat of release to start building up inside him. The curve of Ardyn’s cock dragged over the bud of his prostate with every feral push and his deft hands weaved loose knots over the full length of Ignis’s torso by teasing pearls of precome out of his twitching member. Slowly the knots were pulled tighter, tensing the advisor up. He watched Ardyn, saw every little flicker on his beautiful features as Ignis’s tight entrance sucked him in with unquenchable thirst. Ignis would have given the world in exchange for the immortalized image of Ardyn’s brows knitted together while he fucked into Ignis with abandon, his mouth ajar with a clever, pink tongue licking his lips before a harsh bite down. 

As the waves of pleasure crested ever higher and he was unable to keep his eyes from rolling towards his skull, Ignis found purchase in the sheets below him. He didn’t care if he creased them or ripped them. When Ignis prepared to warn Ardyn about his impending orgasm, the older man dived down, folding the advisor in half and pushing his knees against his chest. It was only the kiss he graced Ignis with that smothered the near scream from the advisor’s prostate getting assaulted with violent slams into him. Ardyn’s mouth swallowed his sobs as the final wave of pleasure flooded over him, drowned him, broke what little inhibition he had had and left him a trembling mess, his ass clenching around Ardyn’s cock in quick succession. He spent all over the older man’s hand and his own stomach, every drop following the receding tide of his orgasm.

His vision was blurry and swimming, floating atop the remnant shivers, unfocused, but when he searched for Ardyn’s face with his eyes, he witnessed the older man bringing the hand coated in his come to his lips and licking the strings of pearly liquid off his fingers. His eyes fluttered shut and the violent staccato of his hips faltered, until an animalistic growl preceded a series of final, brutal thrusts into the encompassing warmth of Ignis’s ass. To the younger man, to end the night without feeling his lover glazing his insides with his come felt a tad disappointing, but he surmised his legs were out of commission to walk to the shower to get cleaned regardless. 

Ardyn trembled from exhaustion over him, and Ignis reached up to brush his wild mane back from his face. A lesser man would have collapsed over the advisor, but Ardyn steeled his aching muscles and leaned back, reluctantly untangling the younger man’s long legs from his shoulders, giving both of his ankles a quick peck before delicately setting them down on the bed, where they lay exactly as Ardyn manipulated them. With great care he pulled out of Ignis, earning a protesting groan, which he combatted with hearty laughter. 

“Pervert,” Ignis accused with affection, once Ardyn had removed the lube drenched condom and tossed it into the bin next to his nightstand.

“The pot calling the kettle black,” Ardyn retorted, reaching for a box of tissues that would serve to clean them both up. The soft paper spread the scent of sandalwood and vanilla amongst the heady smell of vigorous sex as they gathered the last drops of spend from Ignis’s stomach. “If reaching the best orgasm of my undoubtedly long life by having the sweet taste of your completion on my tongue makes me a deviant, it is a title I will carry with pride.”

“Then carry it you shall,” the younger man agreed, sat up and pressed his lips on Ardyn’s for a short, loving kiss. He did not mind the taste of himself on Ardyn’s tongue.

They fell into a loving embrace on Ardyn’s bed, the older man tucking their lower bodies under the plush covers but leaving their chests exposed to the cooling air of the bedroom. Ignis latched onto the side of his lover’s body, drawing circles over his broad chest and connecting small blemishes to each other with invisible lines. Ardyn’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and his fingers carded themselves through his hair, caressing the dirty blond strands. Ignis could have fallen asleep, had his mind not introduced a worry over his confession from earlier, before Ardyn had decided to fuck him senseless. He worried not so much about the confession itself, but the lack of reciprocation. 

“Ardyn, what I said earlier…”

“About myself being a pervert?” 

Ignis snorted at the joke, poking between the older man’s ribs and earning a stifled grunt.

“No, before that.”

“Ah, about loving me. I have not forgotten.” Upon uttering the words, Ardyn’s demeanour shifted to somber. His eyes fixated on the ceiling and Ignis found it hard to read his expression. It worried him.

“I have never been,” Ardyn started, paused and mulled over the words in his head, “good with feelings. My relationships have been like tinder: burning hot and bright but only for breathing. I have found no particular attachment to people.”

First time in a while Ignis felt icy cold dread spreading through his veins. The last time he had felt like this had been on his eighth birthday, when he had been convinced that Ardyn would perish. The thought of Ardyn not returning his feelings was debilitating, after he had willingly offered himself to the man. His hand stilled on the older man’s chest as he listened further.

“My assumption was that I simply had no love to give. But I now speculate a different theory. Perhaps there is only enough love in me for one person.” He turned his head to nuzzle the top of Ignis’s head, and the bristles of his stubble caught on the strands. “And that person has always been you, Ignis. When you waltzed into Regis’s court, scared and timid and yet so courteous, you overtook my entire world.”

Ignis’s breath caught in his throat and he pressed his face into Ardyn’s shoulder to hide the giddy smile spreading on his face, but The King’s brother caught his chin between his fingers and lifted his face up.

“Please, do not hide that smile. It is the most precious thing to me.” He pleaded, brushing over the curve of the advisor’s lips with the rough pad of his thumb. “For as long as you’ll have it, my heart belongs to you, Ignis.”

Unable to stand the sincere confession any longer, Ignis pounced on Ardyn, hiding his alluring, gentle smile within a passionate kiss that lasted for minutes. 

When their lips parted and Ignis felt sudden exhaustion wash over him, Ardyn mused: “Germanely, when I proposed I would die for you, I remember meaning it in the more traditional sense. I did not imagine my last breath to be drawn at Regis’s feet when he learns I bedded his son’s retainer.”


	6. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a cactus it refuses to wilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You also get an epilogue! It's short and sweet.

As was expected, Ignis was in charge of directing the wedding venue of prince Noctis Lucis Caelum of Insomnia and Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret of Tenebrae. Under his watchful, keen eye, the preparations or the big day were progressing smoothly in Altissia, the jewel of the sea. The romantic atmosphere of the city had been the deciding factor on the location. Numerous Lucian, Tenebraean, and Accordian workers, some employed by the royal houses and a few that weren’t, ran past Ignis, carrying ornaments or armfuls of folding chairs. A total of five workers were crafting the wedding arc where the vows would be taken, carefully weaving white flowers around the willow structure, painted natural white as well. Ignis took no part in manual labour, his responsibility being an overseer.

Carefully, he inspected each row of chairs set up before the arc, making sure the lines were even and neat and had correct names engraved on them. Each country had spared no expenses in providing for the wedding that symbolised an ongoing peace, harmony and collaboration between the nations. The venue was building up to become possibly the biggest event of the century, and while they had plans in motion to provide exclusive coverage to particular publications, the security was forced on their toes keeping out the snooping paparazzis looking to get a good shot of the preparations.

Diligent as ever Ignis made notes on his tablet, typing down how the groundwork was progressing and what needed to be changed or adjusted. He vaguely registered a tall figure approaching him and when it stopped next to him, he tucked his chin in to hide a pleased smile at the familiar scent of a person he knew well.

“Beautiful city, this Altissia,” Ardyn commented in a hushed tone, letting his eyes sweep the landscape.

“Breathtaking,” replied Ignis, unsure if he was referring to the location or Ardyn himself.

“It compels me to drag you off to an alcove and have my way with you.” The older man’s voice lowered further to an almost inaudible whisper, like a secret reserved just for Ignis.

“You will find most alcoves here lead to people’s homes.”

“Truly? Do you suggest we knock first?”

Ignis let out a short huff of laughter that despite its modesty was as heartfelt as they came. Ardyn had always had a way with amusing Ignis like no one else. The older man, with his playful tone and offhand comments always struck a chord in the advisor that lifted his mood and alleviated his heart weighed down by duty and obligation. Ignis loved him, truly loved him, for being the spark of mischief and adventure in his life, someone who wasn’t prim and proper like Ignis himself.

They stood in silence while Ignis attempted at directing the particular placements of flower arrangements of more white and an odd splash of deep, royal blue: Noctis’s favourite colour, and coincidentally, the colour of Ardyn’s eyes. Every time the advisor looked at the beautiful arrangements, the picture of Noct and Luna vanished from his mind and he instead thought of himself and Ardyn. It was odd. He should have requested different arrangements. He should’ve begged Noctis to choose a different favourite colour, but the prince insisted on having blue flowers. Not just any blue either, but the colour of a sky preparing for a storm.

“Will His Highness be joining us?” Ignis broke the silence.

“Regis will fly here the day before the event. Royal obligations and all that, and he’s not quite the spring chicken he thinks he is,” Ardyn answered, matter to the fact.

No matter how close to each other they stood, Ignis was careful to not grace Ardyn with physical affection. Longing gazes and loving smiles were hard to decipher to an outsider, even the gentle lilt in Ardyn’s voice he used only ever when addressing Ignis could be misinterpreted as familial affection. The public was well aware of how close the advisor and the king’s brother were, just not to what extent. Ignis feared a scandal if their tryst was ever uncovered. He feared the social pressure they’d face. Nothing aside from his own guilt had tested their relationship so far.

“Apropos of, I have something for you,” the older man said, reaching for the breast pocket of the long coat he had taken to wearing in the recent years. It made him look taller, more intimidating. Ignis knew he could have stepped inside it and be wrapped into the embrace of it, granted he pressed himself flush against the older man. 

“Another gift?” Ignis enquired, instinctively reaching for the pendant Ardyn had given him two years prior, on the night their relationship burst into full bloom. He dared not to remove it. It was his good luck charm and a constant reminder of the unconditional love he had in his life. The kind of keepsake one needed on days that didn’t follow his chosen path.

“Hmm, sort of.” From the depths of his coat, Ardyn produced a thick envelope. When he handed it over to Ignis, the advisor took note of the stamp of the Lucian government officials. Wavering, he reached for the letter inside.

A pile of papers, folded thrice along the length neatly, unfurled in his hands. His eyes widened at the letters at the right corner of the first page.

“Ardyn, this is an adult adoption form,” he whispered under his breath, stunned and starstruck. His heart had stopped beating and he was certain time itself had ceased around them. 

“It has been on my mind recently,” Ardyn admitted, not looking at Ignis when he said it. Somehow his demeanour was deflective, as uncertain as Ignis was. The advisor had never witnessed such ambivalence in him. 

Ardyn continued: “Long have I wanted to adopt you but alas, Regis would have never accepted me claiming you as my own when you were but a child. I awaited, until you could make the decision on your own. Ah but, that is when you decided to play hard to get.” An impish grin rose on his lips, bringing the final, harmonizing piece of the puzzle on his handsome features. It was a smile that made Ignis’s heart turn into a songbird within the cage of his chest, fluttering its wings in elation and chirping away at a pitch-perfect tune.

“I wanted you to carry the Lucis Caelum name, as part of the family you always belonged in,” he paused, tasting the silence of foreboding, of anticipation. “No, not just the Lucis Caelum family.  _ My _ family.”

Ignis’s brain was like an overcrowded airport with thoughts shoving each other aside to reach their designated gates, some of them screaming and yelling and others quiet in their seats, he struggled to produce a coherent answer. He was articulate, ready at cue, never uttering a word out of turn but always prepared for a clever comeback. Yet in front of Ardyn, he was speechless. He held the papers that yearned for him to sign them. It would be the single, most impactful signature he would ever produce.

“Do not feel rushed to answer,” Ardyn soothed him, finally turning to meet his eyes. The warmth of his gaze swept over Ignis’s skin, embracing him like a soft kiss of an early summer sun. Ignis felt the need in him, the howling, desperate longing to pull him in his arms, and the gravitation of his firm body, the promise of a tight hold that wouldn’t let go until Ignis made the incentive, almost breaking the advisor’s resolution. 

His saving grace was a yell that rang behind them, a low voice that hollered his name. He turned to look. Gladio was striding up the stairs leading to the grandeur venue, dragging with him Prompto, who hindered their progress by spinning on his heels at every turn and snapping pictures of everything that caught his artistic eye. Over the course of the days they had spent in Altissia, the lithe blonde had managed to even immortalize curious flight formations of doves. 

Ardyn nodded in their direction as an encouragement for Ignis to part with his company momentarily. Still clutching the forms against his chest, Ignis complied.

“Yo, Iggy,” Gladio repeated as they met atop a staircase. “Ardyn’s here too? What’s up, Uncle Red!”

Ardyn gave him a courteous smirk and a wave of his hand. It had surprised Ignis how well Gladio got along with The King’s brother despite his position. 

“What’s that?” the taller man pointed at the stack of papers in his hands.

“It’s,” he started, then paused. It wasn’t  _ nothing _ . It was more than everything, but he needed time to sort it out in his brain. He needed to come up with an appropriate answer, first to himself, then Ardyn, then anyone else concerned, “something I will sort out later.”

“Uh huh. Right. Just came to tell you we’re heading to the altar of The Tide Mother. Prompto says the pictures he could take of the place are to die for.” There was a slight belittlement in his voice, the affectionate kind. “Wanna join us? Don’t mind Ardyn tagging along either so you won’t feel like a third wheel.”

“And leave these headless chocobos running amok without supervision?” Ignis asked, appalled at the notion. “If I step away even for a minute, they’ll change the flower arrangements to circular instead of streaming ovals like the princess requested.”

Gladio laughed at his diligence. “Suit yourself.”

After capturing the Altissian architecture from at least three different perspectives, Prompto joined their company, clinging onto Gladio’s arm. It was the only part he could reach, being a full head or two shorter than The Shield. 

“Hey, Iggy,” the small blond enquired, careful and dancing around their polite friendship. “I have a request for you.”

“How can I be of assistance?”

“Let go a little.”

The appeal took Ignis by surprise. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again only to be cut off by Gladio.

“Second that. Specs, you’re not in Insomnia. Nobody here knows you or Ardyn. You can loosen up a bit.”

Of course Gladio knew. Gladio had been the first one to notice something different about Ignis since the night he had laid with Ardyn for the first time. His demeanour had shifted, although Ignis, stuck within the prison of his own mind and unable to view himself from the perspective of another, could never pinpoint what exactly had tipped Gladio off. Regardless, it had prompted him to invite Ignis out for drinks, where he had cornered him with a concerned cross examination. Eventually, Gladio had managed to make him come clean about both his feelings for Ardyn, and his intentions to stand by the man. Once again he had expected resistance and a firm telling off, but Gladio had understood him, better than most others would have in the same situation. 

“Untrue,” Ignis disagreed. “There are plenty of Insomnian hands working on the venue, and publications we have not approved looking for an exposé.”

“Just sayin’ a little time spent true to yourself would do you good,” Gladio advised. He and his boyfriend, both infuriatingly open about their attraction for each other, took their leave, muttering quietly about how they would enjoy the change of pace Altissia provided in their hectic lives and make out against every surface on the way to the altar. They knew Ignis heard them. Ignis knew it was all said in good spirits, but he couldn’t shake the stab of envy that pinched at his side. 

He returned to stand by Ardyn, who basked in the gentle noon light, face turned towards the sky and the flocks of fluffy clouds. The discussion of adoption would have to come up again eventually, and Ignis looked forward to it once he had gathered the necessary thoughts into a single answer. For now, he resigned to simply standing next to the man he loved but could not show his love for in public.

Ardyn never pushed, never demanded from Ignis. He had the most placid nature regarding their relationship that Ignis could possibly imagine. Even when posing a question that must’ve held all of his courage captive, and did still while Ignis remained undecided, he curbed all disquietude. The songbird in his ribcage struck its wings against the bones, hankering to break free as Ignis shuffled closer to Ardyn and pressed his shoulder against his.

He calmed his rapidly beating hard, stilled his breath in a moment of timeless solitude with just him and Ardyn, and reached to touch the older man’s wrist. He exhaled, slowly, letting go of his worry and unease, and slid his hand along the warm palm, lacing his fingers with Ardyn’s. He didn’t turn his head, but from the corner of his vision, he saw Ardyn’s smile widen as he gripped Ignis’s hand tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends our journey. Hopefully you have all enjoyed the ride and managed to stay mainly unscathed. I wish to see you all in the future when I hopefully take on describing a less problematic relationship lol. I still have plenty of love to shove towards these two so expect more Ardnis.

**Author's Note:**

> Any kind of feedback is appreciated! I've decided to leave the comments open for everyone without moderation despite the controversial subject of the story.


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